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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


X 


Columbia  Wini^ietsitv 

STUDIES  IN  CLASSICAL  PHILOLOGY 


WAGNER'S   DRAMAS  AND   GREEK 
TRAGEDY 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
SALES  AGENTS 

NEW  YORK 

LEMCKE  &  BUECHNER 
30-32  East  27th  Street 

LONDON 

HUMPHREY   MILFORD 
Amen  Corner,  E.G. 

SHANGHAI 

EDWARD  EVANS  &  SONS,  Ltd. 
30  North  Szechuen  Road 


WAGNEE'S  DRAMAS  AND 
GREEK  TRAGEDY 


BY 

PEARL  CLEVELAND  WILSON 


Submitted  in  Paktial  Fulfilment  of  the  Requirements 

FOR  THE  Degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy,  in  the 

Faculty  of  Philosophy,  Columbia  University 


iReto  Potft 

COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
-     1919 


Copyright,  1919 
By  Columbia  University  Press 


Printed  from  type,  May,  1919 


Music 
Ldbraiy 


This  monograph  has  been  approved  by  the  Department  of 
Classical  Philology  in  Columbia  University  as  a  contribution 
to  knowledge  worthy  of  publication. 

Clarence  H.  Young 

Chairman 


2()16Ci 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Wagner's  Enthusiasm  for  Greek,  and  his  Genius  for 

Dramatic  Expression  in  Music Ir 

II.     Do  Wagn'er's  Dramas  Uphold  the  Doctrine  of  Might 

OR  THE  Doctrine  of  Self-sacrifice? 6 

-9  III.     Greek  Influence  and  Greek  Parallels  in  Wagner's 

Work 12 

IV.     The     Oresteia     and     The     Ring    of    the    Nibelung: 

Dramas  of  Crime  and  Atonement 20 

V,  The  Conclusion  of  the  Meistersinger  and  the  Con- 
clusion of  the  Eumenides:  Two  Remarkable  Re- 
conciliations            44 

VI.    Ajax  and  Amfortas:  the  Fallen  Heroes 47 

?VII.    Isolde  AND  Phaedra  :    Reluctant  Confessions  of  Lov^e  .       51 
VIII.     Wagner's  Music  and  the  Parodos  of  the  Seven  against 

Thebes        55 

IX,    Wagner's  Use  of  the   Orchestra  as  a   Medium  for 

Poetic  Expression 61 

X.    Orchestral  and  Choral  Preludes 75 

The  Overture  to  the  Flying  Dutchman  and  the  Parodos 

of  the  Persae. 
The  Overture  to   Tannhdicser  and  the  Parodos  of  the 
Oedipus  Tyrannus. 
—^The  Vorspiel  to  Tristan  and  Isolde  and  the  Parodos  of 
the  Supplices  of  Aeschylus. 

-?  XI.    Orchestral  and  Choral  Conclusions 81 

'^^XII.     Long  Scenes  and  Speeches      86 

-^XIII.     A  Few  Remarks  on  Rhythms 90 

XIV.     Points  of  Resemblance  between  Wagner  and  the  Greek 

Tragic  Poets 95 

Bibliography 97 


WAGNEE'S    DRAMAS    AND 
GREEK    TRAGEDY 

CHAPTER  I 

Wagner's  enthusiasm  for  greek  and  his  genius 
for  dramatic  expression  in  music 

Aristotle's  definition  has  often  served  as  a  starting-point 
for  analyses  of  tragedy.  But  melody,  which  he  calls  the 
greatest  of  the  embellishments,  has  long  been  separated  from 
drama,  and  subject  and  style  have  changed  with  form.  Poets 
have  not  remained  musicians,  as  they  were  in  ancient  Greece, 
but  one  musician  of  modern  times  has  written  great  tragedies. 
Richard  Wagner  composed  ten  dramas  that  are  performed] 
by  opera  companies,  though  they  are  almost  as  far  from  be-j 
ing  operas  as  they  are  from  being  plays.  To  find  as  indis-! 
soluble  a  union  of  music  and  words  in  drama,  we  must  go 
back  to  the  choral  odes  of  Attic  tragedy.  But  while  Greek 
tragedies  are  dramatic  poems,  w4th  their  range  of  expression 
extended  by  music,  Wagner's  works  are  dramatic  symphonies, 
with  their  meaning  made  clear  by  words.  It  is  not  possible 
to  compare  them  without  being  conscious,  at  every  step,  of 
this  fundamental  difference.  Allowing  for  it,  however,  we 
find  many  points  of  resemblance. 

This  is  not  surprising;  for  Wagner's  enthusiasm  for  the 
Greeks  was  intense  and  persistent.  Chamberlain,  in  his 
biography  of  Wagner,^  directs  attention  to  the  fact  that  "of 
all  the  really  great  masters  of  the  musical  art  Wagner  is  the 
only  one  who  enjoyed  a  thorough  classical  education,"  and 
Wagner  himself  says,  "I  believe  there  can  have  been  no  boy 

1  p.  36. 
1 


2  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

more  devoted  to  classic  antiquity  than  myself  at  the  time  I 
attended  the  Kreuzschule  in  Dresden."  ^  When  thirteen, 
he  translated  the  first  twelve  books  of  the  Odyssey,  though 
no  other  member  of  his  class  read  more  than  one.-  His  teacher 
even  urged  him  to  make  philology  his  profession.  While  still 
in  school,  he  sketched  a  tragedy  in  the  Greek  style,  and  Glase- 
napp  quotes  him  as  saying  later:  "My  childish  impressions 
of  classical  antiquity  and  of  the  seriousness  of  the  antique,  so 
far  as  I  became  acquainted  with  it  in  the  Gymnasium,  may 
have  been  the  cause  of  the  contempt,  amounting  even  to 
loathing,  which  I  felt  for  our  bepainted  comedies."  ^ 

W^agner  did  not  study  composition  until,  at  fifteen,  the 
chance  discovery  of  Beethoven's  music  to  Egniont  inspired 
him  with  the  desire  to  write  a  similar  setting  for  the  "great 
tragedy"  he  had  just  finished.  He  was  obhged  then,  as  he 
says,  "to  master  the  technique  of  an  entirely  separate  and 
complicated  subject.  This  presented  greater  difficulties  than 
I  had  met  with  in  writing  verse,  which  came  to  me  fairly  easily. 
It  was  these  difficulties  that  drove  me  to  adopt  a  career  which 
bore  some  resemblance  to  that  of  a  professional  musician, 
whose  future  distinction  would  be  to  win  the  titles  of  Con- 
ductor and  Writer  of  Opera."  ^ 

\  At  thirty-five,  Wagner  resumed  the  study  of  Greek,  to  make 
up,  he  says,=  for  the  deficiencies  in  "my  boyhood's  knowledge 
of  the  eternal  elements  of  human  culture,  and  the  neglect  of 
this  field  of  learning  due  to  the  fife  I  had  been  obhged  to  lead." 
"For  the  first  time  I  now  mastered  Aeschylus  with  real  feel- 
ing and  understanding.  Droysen's  eloquent  commentaries 
in  particular  helped  to  bring  before  my  imagination  the  in- 
toxicating effect  of  the  production  of  an  Athenian  tragedy, 
so  that  I  could  see  the  Oresteia  with  my  mind's  eye,  as  though 
it  were  actually  being  performed,  and  its  effect  on  me  was 

1  P.  W.,  V,  p.  292.  3  i^  p.  21. 

2  Ellis,  Life  of  Wagner,  p.  93.  *  My  Life,  p.  36. 

6  My  Life,  pp.  411,  415-416. 


ENTHUSIASM    FOR   GREEK   AND    HIS    GENIUS  3 

indescribable,  ...  to  the  last  word  of  the  Eumenides  I  lived 
in  an  atmosphere  so  far  removed  from  the  present  day  that 
I  have  never  since  been  able  to  reconcile  myself  with  modern 
hterature.  My  ideas  about  the  whole  significance  of  the 
drama  and  of  the  theatre  were,  without  a  doubt,  moulded  by 
these  impressions.  I  worked  my  way  through  the  other 
tragedians,  and  finally  reached  Aristophanes.  My  deUght  in 
the  comedies  .  .  .  was  boundless,  when  once  his  Birds  had 
plunged  me  into  the  full  torrent  of  the  genius  of  this  wanton 
favorite  of  the  Graces.  .  .  .  Side  by  side  with  this  poet  I 
read  the  principal  dialogues  of  Plato,  and  from  the  Sympo- 
sium I  gained  such  a  deep  insight  into  the  wonderful  beauty 
of  Greek  hfe  that  I  felt  myself  more  truly  at  home  in  ancient 
Athens  than  in  any  conditions  which  the  modern  world  has 
to  offer."  The  dramas  composed  after  this  are  distinguished 
by  a  mastery  of  idiom  such  as  was  seen  only  here  and  there 
in  Wagner's  earlier  works.  They  contain  also  the  most  and 
the  closest  parallels  to  Greek  tragedy. 

The  persistence  of  this  influence  is  seen  in  Wagner's  last 
achievement  —  the  building  of  the  theatre  in  Bayreuth  and 
the  institution  of  the  first  festivals.  He  says,^  "History 
gave  me  a  model  also  for  that  ideal  relation  of  the  theatre 
to  the  pubhc  which  I  had  in  mind.  I  found  it  in  the  drama 
of  ancient  Athens  —  there  where  the  theatre  opened  its  doors 
only  on  the  days  of  certain  rehgious  festivals,  where  art  was 
enjoyed  as  a  part  of  the  celebration  of  a  solemn  rite,  in  which 
the  most  distinguished  statesmen  took  part  as  poets  and 
actors,  and  appeared  as  priests,  as  it  were,  before  the  assem- 
bled populace  of  city  and  country,  which  was  filled  with  so 
high  an  expectation  of  the  lofty  character  of  the  art-work  to 
be  produced,  that  an  Aeschylus,  a  Sophocles,  could  bring  out 
the  most  profoundly  significant  poetic  dramas,  feeUng  cer- 
tain that  they  would  be  understood  by  the  people." 

1  VII,  p.  99. 


4  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

While    Wagner's    lifelong    enthusiasm    for    Greek    tragedy- 
accounts  for  much  in  his  dramas,  it  is  easy  to  understand 
why  the  controlhng  factor  is  not  words,  but  music.     Wagner 
was  born  at  the   time  when  Beethoven's  symphonies  were 
reveahng  the  ahnost  infinite  possibilities  of  the  orchestra  as 
a  medium  for  poetic  expression.     Its  newly   discovered  re- 
sources so  far  surpassed  those  of  the  German  language  in  melo- 
diousness and  flexibility  that  it  was  the  natural  thing  for 
Wagner,  once  he  had  gained  command  of  them,  to  develop 
them  to  the  utmost.     Melodic  effects,  achieved  indirectly  in 
poetry    through    word-combinations,    are    actually    produced 
by  musical  tones,  to  which  the  contrasting  timbre  of  the  dif- 
ferent orchestral  instruments  may  give  ahnost  endless  variety 
of  quahty  as  well  as  pitch.     In  rhythm,  too,  the  musician's 
range  is  wider  than  the  poet's.     He  can  change  more  fre- 
quently, and  by  using  two,  or  even  more  rhj^thms  simultane- 
ously he  can  produce  the  feeling  of  tension  or  conflict  that  is 
the  essence  of  drama.     To  tell  a  definite  story,  however,  words 
are  indispensable,  and  the  text  of  Wagner's  dramas  is  not 
unlike  a  skeleton,  which  determines  the  form  of   the  music 
and  is  clothed  by  it  with  beauty,  dignity,  and  significance. 
How  closely  related  text  and  music  are,  can  best  be  under- 
stood from  a  letter  written  by  Wagner  in  1844,  and  translated 
in  part  by  H.  T.  Finck  in  Wagner  and  His  Works  (II,  p.  24) : 
"In  the  first  place  no  subjects  attract  me  except  such  as  pre- 
sent a  musical  as  well  as  poetic  unport  at  the  same  time.     Then, 
before  I  begin  to  make  a  verse,  or  even  to  project  a  scene,  I 
am  already  intoxicated  by  the  musical  fragrance  of  my  task. 
I  have  all  the  tones,  all  the  characteristic  motives  in  my  head, 
so  that  when  the  verses  are  completed  and  the  scenes  arranged, 
the  opera  is  practically  finished  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  and 
the  detailed  execution  of  the  work  is  little  more  than  a  quiet 
after-labor,  which  has  been  preceded  by  the  real  motives  of 
creation.     For  this  purpose,  it  is  true,  I  must  select  such  sub- 


ENTHUSIASM    FOR    GREEK   AND    HIS    GENIUS  5 

jects  only  as  are  capable  of  no  other  but  a  musical  treatment: 
never  would  I  choose  a  subject  which  might  as  well  have  been 
used  by  a  playwright  for  a  spoken  drama."  This  is  enough 
to  indicate  how  Wagner's  works  differ,  in  the  manner  of  their 
conception,  from  operas.  He  himself  said:  "I  write  no  more 
operas:  since  I  do  not  wish  to  invent  an  arbitrary  name  for 
my  works,  I  call  them  dramas,  this  designation  at  least  serv- 
ing to  express  most  clearly  the  standpoint  which  must  be 
taken  so  as  to  receive  that  which  I  have  to  offer."  ^ 

Chamberlain  says  in  The  Wagnerian  Drama:  "^  "It  will 
not  be  lightly  denied  that  the  most  intense  and  moving  action 
is  that  which  passes  in  the  innermost  soul.  .  .  .  But  it  is 
denied  that  this  action  can  be  represented  otherwise  than  by 
words  and  visible  deeds.  Every  time,  therefore,  that  Wagner 
.  .  .  descends  into  the  depths  of  the  invisible  soul  in  order 
to  reveal  to  us  by  means  of  music  the  true  action  .  .  .  there, 
—  we  are  told:  'that  is  undramatic'  But  it  can  only  appear 
undramatic  to  one  who,  for  the  good  reason  that  music  reveals 
nothing  to  him,  really  does  not  perceive  the  action."  "If 
music  can  never  be  anything  else  but  'arabesques  of  sound,' 
then  Wagner's  whole  art  goes  by  the  board.  His  drama 
bases  itself  on  the  assumption  that  music  can  speak  to  us  as 
the  revelation  from  another  world,  and  that  we  shall  conse- 
quently be  able  to  go  further  with  the  help  of  music  than  with 
the  language  of  the  understanding  and  with  the  eyes;  music 
is  therefore  with  him  a  medium  of  dramatic  expression.  ...  It 
is  certain,  however,  that  it  is  impossible  to  enter  into  a  logical 
argument  touching  this  point.  For  if  I  have  the  'overwhelm- 
ing conviction'  that  a  certain  music  reveals  another  world  to 
me,  ...  no  one  can  logically  prove  that  I  do  not  feel  this; 
but  it  is  just  as  impossible  for  me  to  prove  to  him  that  this 
music  reveals  anything  to  me."  ' 

1  G.  S.  IV,  p.  343  (Chamberlain's  trans.).  ^  pp.  176-177. 

3  pp. 175-176. 


CHAPTER   II 

DO  Wagner's  dramas  uphold  the  doctrine  of  might 
OR  the  doctrine  of  self-sacrifice? 

If  Wagner's  dramas  were  as  generally  understood  as  Shake- 
speare's, this  question  need  not  be  asked  here.  No  one  con- 
siders Macbeth  a  strong  character,  or  claims  that  a  low  ideal 
of  womanhood  produced  Imogen.  Yet  such  misconceptions 
are  more  or  less  prevalent  with  regard  to  Wotan  and  Brtinn- 
hilde.  One  meets  with  them  oftener  in  conversation  than  in 
print,  and  they  frequently  result  from  assuming  that  Wagner's 
characters  are  the  same  as  those  bearing  their  names  in  some 
famihar  literary  version  of  the  legend.  Yet  Wagner's  Tristan, 
who  prefers  death  to  disloyalty  in  Act  I,  and  his  Isolde,  who 
dies  unwed,  are  very  different  from  the  guilty  lovers  elsewhere 
described.  And  Wagner's  King  Mark,  who  loves  Tristan 
like  a  son,  and  hardly  becomes  acquainted  with  the  princess 
from  over  the  sea,  cannot  be  looked  upon  as  an  outraged  hus- 
band. In  the  end  he  says  to  Isolde:  "When  all  was  revealed 
which  had  been  kept  from  me  before,  how  great  my  joy  to 
find  my  friend  free  from  guilt!  With  swelling  sails,  I  hast- 
ened to  follow,  that  I  might  marry  thee  to  the  man  I  hold 
dear." 

Sometimes  a  visual  impression,  received  at  a  performance, 
is  not  corrected  by  referring  to  words  and  music,  and  the 
shortcomings  of  a  singer  are  accepted  as  the  composer's  inten- 
tion. A  friend  of  mine  was  particularly  interested,  at  her 
first  hearing  of  Parsifal,  in  the  effect  of  "coarseness  and  rude- 
ness that  Wagner  evidently  meant  to  produce  in  the  Parsifal 
of  Act  I."     I  saw  that  Parsifal,  and  know  how  well  her  words 

6 


DRAMAS  UPHOLD  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SERVICE        7 

describe  him.     But   Wagner  makes  Gurnemanz  say,   in  Act 
I,  to  Parsifal,  "Noble  thou  seemest,  and  highborn." 

The  impression  that  Wagner's  dramas  uphold  the  doctrine 
of  might,  and  glorify  the  hero  who  forces  his  will  upon  the 
world  about  him,  has  as  little  justification  as  the  outworn 
theory  that  Euripides  was  a  misogynist.  Wotan  is  such  a 
character,  and  of  all  Wagner's  heroes  he  is  the  least  admirable, 
and  wins  the  least  sympathy.  An  audience  will  be  moved 
by  the  suffering  of  Tannhauser,  though  he  never  condones  his 
faults,  but  remain  cold  to  the  suffering  of  Wotan,  who  has 
alwaj'^s  an  excuse  for  the  sin  that  caused  it.  He  knew  that 
he  did  wrong  in  robbing  Alberich,  but  there  was  no  other  way 
of  getting  the  gold  to  buy  the  fortress  whose  possession  meant 
supreme  power.  His  supremacy  is  to  him  a  sacred  obligation 
—  without  it,  he  sincerely  beUeves,  the  world  would  go  to 
ruin.  When  he  begins  to  doubt  his  ability  to  keep  it,  he  lets 
war  loose  on  the  earth.  For  the  injustice  to  the  Rhinemaidens, 
unfortunately  incidental  to  his  rise  to  world-dominion,  Wotan 
magnanimously  plans  reparation,  once  his  end  is  attained. 
When  the  fortress  is  made  secure,  manned  bj^  an  army  of 
warriors  and  Valkyrs,  then  a  hero  shall  be  brought  into  the 
world  to  slay  the  fortress-builder,  take  the  gold  Wotan  paid 
him,  and  return  it  to  the  Rhine.  Meanwhile,  let  the  Rhine- 
maidens  stop  complaining  —  they  have  lost  their  gold,  but 
they  may  sun  themselves  in  the  light  of  Wotan's  glory  instead. 
To  his  power  he  sacrifices  his  children,  Siegmund  aiid  Briinn- 
hilde,  grieving  deeply,  it  is  true,  but  actually  believing  no 
other  course  possible.  The  thought  of  giving  up  the  fortress 
never  occurs  to  him.  This  fatal  inability  to  measure  himself 
by  the  standard  used  for  others  is  the  cause  of  Wotan's  down- 
fall. He  established  his  power  on  the  sacred  laws  of  compact, 
he  makes  the  races  of  earth  bow  to  them,  and  punishes  all 
who  defy  them;  but  when  their  bond  grows  irksome,  he  himself 
tries  to  break  or  evade  it.  '  "  You  took  the  agreement  seriously," 


8  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

he  says  to  the  giants,  "which  we  made  only  in  jest.  .  .  .  Think 
of  another  reward."  Wotan  looks  out  upon  the  world  through 
an  eye  impaired  by  lust  for  power.  Like  a  distorting  lens, 
it  prevents  his  seeing  things  in  their  true  relations.  Only 
the  agony  of  mortal  terror,  or  of  utter  despair,  corrects  this 
defective  vision  and  gives  him,  on  rare  occasions,  a  glimpse  of 
the  truth.  But  after  the  most  exalted  of  these  moments 
—  the  scene  with  Erda  in  Siegfried  —  he  slips  back  into  a  fit 
of  violent  anger  at  the  lese-majeste  of  Siegfried,  who  takes 
the  king  of  gods  for  a  quarrelsome  old  man!  Wotan  loses  love 
and  power  by  his  unbridled  impulse  to  assert  his  will. 

Not  the  assertion,  but  the  forgetting  of  self,  not  the  arbi- 
trary rule,  but  the  voluntary  service  of  others  —  these  are 
the  ideals  Wagner's  dramas  uphold.  It  is  not  the  defiant 
will  of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  but  the  compassion  of  Senta 
that  we  are  led  to  admire.  And  even  he  does  not  gain  the 
long-sought  release  till  he  puts  her  safety  before  his  own. 
When  he  meets  Daland,  he  is  eager  to  seize  any  opportunity 
that  may  lead  to  deliverance.  "Have  you  a  daughter?"  he 
asks.  "Yes,  a  dear  child,"  answers  Daland.  "Let  her  be 
my  wife!"  The  demand  is  as  unreasoning  as  the  clutch  of  a 
drowning  man.  No  question  about  other  suitors,  or  about 
the  probability  of  her  becoming  the  "wife,  faithful  unto  death," 
who  alone  can  deliver  him  from  his  curse.  But  after  he  has 
met  Senta,  and  knelt  before  the  miracle  of  her  sympathy, 
he  overhears  Eric's  reproachful  pleading.  Without  waiting 
to  learn  Senta's  attitude  toward  the  young  lover,  the  Dutch- 
man rushes  aboard  his  ship.  If  Senta  married  him,  with  an- 
other love  in  her  heart,  she  too  would  fall  under  the  curse; 
if  he  leaves  before  the  wedding,  she  will  be  free.  "Thousands 
were  lost  through  me,"  he  cries,  "but  thou  shalt  be  saved!" 

Tannhauser,  too,  the  pleasure-seeker,  learns  self-denial 
before  winning  redemption.  Here  again  the  loving  sympathy 
of  a  woman  is  made  the  redeeming  power;    but  we  cannot 


DRAMAS  UPHOLD  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SERVICE        9 

help  feeling  that  Tannhauser  is  saved,  not  merely  because 
Elizabeth  prays  for  him,  but  because  the  spiritual  heroism  of 
her  defence  awakens  in  him,  at  last,  a  desire  free  from  sel- 
fishness. For  her  sake,  he  undertakes  the  pilgrimage.  She 
besought  the  knights  to  spare  his  life  for  repentance;  to  prove 
himself  worthy  of  her  prayer,  he  voluntarily  multiplies  the 
hardships  of  the  journey.  The  other  pilgrims  wear  sandals; 
barefoot,  he  chooses  paths  where  stones  and  thorns  abound. 
They  sleep  at  inns;  he  lies  outside  on  the  frozen  earth.  All 
this  and  more  he  does,  "to  sweeten  the  tears"  shed  for  him 
by  Elizabeth.  Beside  her  tender  sympathy  Wagner  places 
the  noble  sympathy  of  Wolfram.  He  loves  Elizabeth  enough 
to  sacrifice  his  own  hope  of  winning  her,  in  order  to  bring 
back  the  forgetful  minstrel  who  had  sung  his  way  into  her 
heart.  After  she  dies,  it  is  Wolfram  who,  by  main  force, 
stops  Tannhauser  in  his  desperate  rush  toward  the  Venusberg 
and  makes  it  possible  for  him  to  die  redeemed. 

Devotion,  like  Wolfram's,  wholly  free  from  self-interest,  is 
found  again  in  Hans  Sachs,  for  whom  it  wins  the  loving  hom- 
age of  Nuremberg,  and  in  Parsifal,  whom  it  brings  to  the  lead- 
ership of  the  knights  of  the  Holy  Grail.  Lohengrin,  the  son 
of  Parsifal,  leaves  the  peace  of  the  Grail's  domain,  and  in 
order  to  protect  Elsa  comes  to  live  and  fight  among  the  evils 
of  earth.  The  tragedy  that  ensues  is  the  result  of  Elsa's  in- 
abihty  t.  make  in  return  a  smaller  sacrifice,  hke  those  made 
by  the  Dutchman  and  Tannhauser.  Even  Tristan  and  Isolde, 
the  drama  of  love  and  longing,  is  not  without  its  episode  of 
self-sacrifice.  Putting  loyalty  above  his  own  desire,  Tristan 
takes  the  goblet  offered  by  Isolde,  King  Mark's  betrothed. 
After  months  of  hopeless  longing,  Tristan  has  just  discovered 
that  she  loves  him.  She  has  made  it  clear  that  the  drink  is 
poison,  and  before  he  touches  it  she  utters  the  appeal,  "Tristan, 
am  I  forgiven?  What  hast  thou  to  say  to  me?"  Without 
a  word  of  love,  Tristan  drinks  the  potion. 


10  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

Siegfried,  of  course,  makes  no  sacrifice.  Free  as  the  wind 
and  glad  as  the  sunlight,  his  charm  is  the  charm  of  youth. 
He  is  so  taken  up  with  the  joy  of  hving  that  the  sight  of  suf- 
fering only  puzzles  him.  He  is  like  the  Parsifal  of  Act  I.  Both 
are  children  of  the  forest,  surcharged  with  vigor,  and  pos- 
sessing an  innate  nobihty  of  character,  whose  possibihties  of 
development  are  almost  without  limit.  With  weapons  that 
they  make  for  themselves  they  slay  monsters  and  earn  the 
fear  of  the  wicked;  but  they  lack  the  sympathetic  under- 
standing indispensable  to  those  who  are  to  right  the  wrongs 
and  heal  the  wounds  of  the  world.  Parsifal  gains  this  under- 
standing through  suffering,  but  Siegfried  is  killed,  without 
experiencing  a  moment  of  real  distress,  and  consequently 
without  performing  the  act  which  will  free  the  world  from 
the  curse  of  greed.  That  is  done  by  Briinnhilde,  who  has 
learned  through  anguish  the  need  of  gods  and  men.  She  is 
beyond  question  the  noblest  character  in  the  Ring,  and  the 
only  one  who  cares  so  deeply  for  the  welfare  of  others  that  she 
forgets  her  own  in  the  effort  to  secure  it. 

The  ideal,  then,  that  Wagner  upholds  constantly  —  even 
in  the  pagan  drama  of  the  Ring  —  is  the  Christian  ideal  of 
sympathy  and  self-sacrifice,  and  those  who  interpret  his  dramas 
differently  seem  to  me  either  to  be  misled  by  something  rela- 
tively superficial,  such  as  the  self-glorification  of  Wotan,  or 
to  consider  only  such  incidents  as  accord  with  some  theory  of 
their  own,  ignoring  all  the  rest.  This  is  what  Nietzsche  did, 
and  also  Bernard  Shaw,  when  they  grew  enthusiastic  over 
Siegfried.  To  them  he  stood  for  the  ideal  man,  fearless  and 
strong,  free  from  all  mean  impulses,  overthrowing  false  tra- 
ditions that  have  ruled  the  world,  climbing  to  his  desire.  He 
is  all  this,  of  course,  and  he  is  likewise  a  very  lovable  boj'",  as 
the  awakened  Briinnhilde  discovers  —  one  that  might  easily 
grow  into  the  perfect  hero.  But  in  Wagner's  drama  he  per- 
forms only  half  of  the  task  which  is  represented  as  the  greatest 


DRAMAS  UPHOLD  THE  DOCTRIXE  OF  SERVICE        11 

and  the  most  needed  by  the  world.  It  is  the  half  that  calls 
for  bravery  and  physical  strength  —  the  slaying  of  the  dragon. 
To  represent  Siegfried  as  the  complete  and  ideal  hero,  it  seems 
to  me,  Wagner  would  have  had  to  make  him  accomplish  the 
other  half  of  the  task  as  well,  and  give  the  ring  back  to  the 
Rhine.  That  is  the  half  that  requires  understanding  and 
moral  courage  —  willingness  to  give  up  the  chance  to  rule  the 
world  in  order  to  right  a  wrong  committed  long  before  his 
birth.  Siegfried  is  ready  to  part  with  the  ring  in  return  for 
love,  or  even,  perhaps,  for  a  wild  boar  —  he  cares  nothing  for 
power  —  but  he  goes  no  further  than  the  thought  of  exchange. 
He  has  not  the  understanding  and  sympathy  that  grow  from 
suffering.  It  is  Briinnhilde  who  attains  this,  and  restores  the 
ring. 


CHAPTER  III 

greek  influence  and  greek  parallels  in 
Wagner's  work 

To  what  extent  the  form  and  character  of  Wagner's  work 
were  directly  influenced  by  his  acquaintance  with  Greek, 
would  be  hard  to  decide.  Only  Wagner  himself  could  have 
told  of  the  occasions  —  if  there  were  any  —  when  he  con- 
sciously chose  to  follow  a  certain  path,  because  it  ran  parallel 
to  something  in  Greek  tragedy.  But  even  he  could  not  have 
known  how  differently  he  might  have  shaped  the  medium  in 
which  he  worked,  if  his  mind  had  not  been  impressed  so  early 
and  so  deeply  by  the  noble  beauty  of  Greek  ideals.  The 
significant  facts  in  this  connection  seem  to  be  two:  first,  that 
one  of  the  greatest  musicians  of  the  nineteenth  century  re- 
ceived lasting  inspiration  from  the  study  of  Greek;  and  second, 
that  in  opera-houses  today  dramas  are  being  sung  that  may 
be  looked  upon  as  constituting,  in  some  respects,  a  modern 
parallel  to  the  tragedies  of  Aeschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides. 

The  relation  between  these  facts  is  undoubtedly  that  of 
cause  and  effect.  Wagner  was  possessed,  from  boyhood  till 
the  day  of  his  death,  by  an  ardent  enthusiasm  for  Greek  litera- 
ture, especially  Greek  tragedy,  and  there  are  countless  pas- 
sages in  his  works  that  show,  either  in  choice  of  subject  or 
method  of  treatment,  the  result  of  this.  But  there  is  no 
instance  of  actual  imitation.  Perhaps  Wagner  never  showed 
himself  wiser  than  when,  with  all  his  love  for  Greek  mythol- 
ogy, he  refrained  from  appropriating  any  of  the  subjects  it 
offered.  For  a  few  years,  he  did  intend  to  write  a  drama 
with  Achilles  for  its  hero,  but  he  ended  b}^  giving  us  instead 

12 


GREEK   INFLUENCE   AND    GREEK   PARALLELS  13 

-the  Siegfried  of  The  Nibelung's  Ring.  In  dramatizing  legends 
of  his  own  race,  Wagner  was  much  more  truly  a  follower  of 
the  Greeks  than  he  could  ever  have  become  by  re-clothing 
classic  heroes  in  Teutonic  garb. 

What  Wagner  learned  from  the  Greeks,  he  assimilated. 
It  became  part  of  his  way  of  thinking  and  working,  and  he 
would  probably  have  been  as  surprised  as  was  the  writer  to 
discover  how  many  exact  parallels  could  be  drawn  between 
parts  of  his  dramas  and  of  Greek  tragedies.  The  fact  that 
often  a  passage  in  Wagner  is,  in  different  ways,  parallel  to  two 
or  more  entirely  unrelated  passages  in  Greek  tragedy,  testifies 
to  his  unconscious  use  of  what  he  had  absorbed.  If  he  had 
not  said  so  often  that  Greek  meant  much  to  him,  we  might 
call  all  the  parallels  accidental;  but  in  view  of  that,  and  of 
the  exceedingly  large  number  from  which  those  in  this  essay 
were  selected,  it  seems  Hkely  that  some,  at  least,  are  the  out- 
come of  more  than  chance.  It  is  even  possible  that  when 
constructing  the  first  scene  of  Tristan  and  Isolde,  Wagner  re- 
called the  Hippolytus,  and  that  in  writing  the  end  of  the  Meister- 
singer,  he  thought  of  the  reconciliation  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  Eumenides,  though  it  is  equally  possible  that  he  did  not. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  may  see  a  direct  result  of  Greek  influ- 
ence in  the  profound  seriousness  that  pervades  Wagner's  dramas, 
and  in  the  large  and  simple  lines  on  which  the  characters  are 
drawn  and  the  plots  constructed. 

After  writing  three  operas  in  the  style  of  his  contemporaries, 
Wagner  broke  a  new  path  with  the  composition  of  the  Flying 
Dutchman.  It  is  the  first  to  bear  the  stamp  of  his  peculiar 
genius,  and  its  central  figure  is  a  wanderer,  constantly  baffled 
in  his  search  for  home,  like  Odysseus,  who  had  captured  Wag- 
ner's boyish  imagination.  He  says:  "The  figure  of  the  'Fly- 
ing Dutchman'  is  a  mythical  creation  of  the  Folk:  a  primal 
trait  of  human  nature  speaks  out  from  it  with  heart-en- 
thralHng  force.     This  trait,   in  its  most  universal  meaning, 


14  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

is  the  longing  after  rest  from  amid  the  storms  of  hfe.  In  the 
blithe  world  of  Greece  we  meet  with  it  in  the  wanderings  of 
Ulysses  and  his  longing  after  home,  house,  hearth  and  wife: 
the  attainable,  and  at  last  attained  reward  of  the  city-loving 
son  of  ancient  Hellas."^  Wagner's  next  drama,  Tannhduser, 
again  derived  from  a  legend,  represents  the  conflict  between 
man's  higher  and  lower  impulses.  Here,  too,  we  may  be 
reminded  of  the  Odyssey,  for  Venus  keeps  Tannhauser  in  her 
grotto,  as  Calypso  keeps  Odysseus  on  her  island,  till,  by  the 
aid  of  a  higher  power,  he  is  freed  to  return  to  Elizabeth,  as 
Odysseus  returned  to  Penelope.  The  story  of  Lohengrin 
resembles  that  of  Zeus  and  Semele,  and  by  the  time  Wagner 
had  completed  it,  he  understood  the  nature  of  his  dramatic 
bent.  It  had  found  its  best  expression  by  taking  legendary 
subjects,  and  presenting  them  so  as  to  embody  some  funda- 
mental problem  of  human  life  and  to  point  toward  a  solution. 
This  made  his  dramas  interpretations  rather  than  representa- 
tions of  experience,  and  his  characters  typical  rather  than 
individual.  In  subject  and  dramatic  treatment  they  were  less 
like  the  German  and  English  drama,  with  which  Wagner  was 
famihar,  than  hke  Greek  tragedy,  which  he  had  read  only  in 
translation.  He  felt,  therefore,  that  in  order  to  develop  his 
talent  to  the  most  of  which  it  was  capable,  he  must  know  Greek 
better.  So  he  took  up  the  course  of  study  already  described. ^ 
Then,  fired  by  the  glow  kindled  on  the  altar  of  Dionysus  under 
the  inspired  touch  of  Greek  poets,  Wagner  turned  back  to  the 
modern  theatre,  and  wrote  four  music-dramas,  which  in  the 
union  of  grande'ur,  beauty,  and  profovmdly  human  significance 
have  not  been  approached  in  the  operatic  field:  Tristan  and 
Isolde,   Meister singer,   the  Ring,  and  Parsifal. 

So  Wagner  followed  the  Greeks,  instinctively  at  first,  and 
later    consciously,    in    choosing   mythical    subjects    from    the 
early  epics  of  his  own  people.    But  he  altered  them  with  greater 
1  I,  p.  307.  2  p.  2. 


GREEK   INFLUENCE   AND    GREEK   PARALLELS  15 

freedom,  for  the  Teutonic  legends  were  associated  only  with 
poetry,  while  those  of  the  Greeks  were  part  of  their  religion. 
(We  may  note  in  passing  that  Wagner  surrounded  his  last  1 
drama,  Parsifal,  with  a  religious  halo,  and  called  it  a  Buhnen- 
weihfestspiel.)  The  radical  changes  Wagner  made  in  the  s 
legends  he  adapted  all  tend  toward  the  elimination  of  detail,  | 
and  the  re-casting  on  broader  and  simpler  lines,  with  strong 
emphasis  on  ethical  values.  One  result  is  that  the  main 
interest  lies  in  the  situation  of  the  characters  rather  than  in 
their  individual  peculiarities.  What  is  the  experience  of  a 
woman  forced  to  choose  between  obedience  to  her  king's 
command  and  obedience  to  her  highest  conception  of  right? 
What  does  she  do  and  what  does  she  suffer?  These  are  the 
questions  answered  in  Wagner's  Briinnhilde  of  The  Nibelung's 
Ring  and  in  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles  —  she  obeys  the  "un- 
written law,"  and  her  reward  is  death  and  fame  undying- 
What  are  the  consequences  of  crime?  Does  wrongdoing  stop 
with  the  criminal  act,  or  does  one  crime  give  rise  to  another, 
and  the  second  to  a  third,  till  the  suffering  of  many,  innocent 
as  well  as  guilty,  results  from  the  selfish  violence  of  one?  Wag- 
ner's Ring  is  a  magnificent  portrayal  of  the  evil  set  in  motion 
by  the  hand  that  robs.  The  colossal  proportions  of  the  drama, 
the  cumulative  effect  of  the  succession  of  crimes,  the  con- 
vincing power  with  which  Wagner  represents  as  a  law  of  the 
universe  the  justice  that  lets  no  crime  go  unpunished,  and 
that  teaches  through  suffering  —  all  these  bear  witness  to 
what  he  learned  from  Aeschylus  and  his  unapproachable 
presentation  of  the  evil  started  by  the  hand  that  kills. 

But  the  finest  thing,  probably,  in  all  Wagner's  work,  is  1 
his  portrayal  of  the  beauty  and  the  power  of  sympathy.  He  ! 
said  once  that  the  subject  of  his  dramas  was  love;  and  it  is 
true  that  every  one,  from  the  Flying  Dutchman  to  Parsifal,  ; 
represents,  in  some  way-,  the  love  that  causes  one  to  feel  an-  ' 
other's  suffering  as  though  it  were  his  own,  and,  with  utter 


16  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

self-forgetfulness,  to  make  every  sacrifice  to  relieve  it.^  Like 
Euripides,  Wagner  created  heroines  whose  self-sacrifice  moves 
us  deeply.  Senta,  EUzabeth,  and  Briinnhilde  are,  in  this 
'  sense,  successors  of  Alcestis,  Macaria,  Evadne,  and  Iphigenia. 
The  men  whom  Wagner  represents  as  guided  by  sympathy 
—  Wolfram,  Lohengrin,  Sachs,  and  Parsifal  —  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  any  Greek  predecessors,  though  a  similar 
feeling  does  influence  the  actions  of  Neoptolemus  in  the  Philoc- 
tetes  and  of  the  Peasant  in  the  Electra  of  Euripides.  But  the 
characteristic  which  the  Greeks  admired,  as  Wagner  admires 
sympathy,  is  moderation  (o-w^/joo-vVt?)  .  Practically  all  their 
dramas  bear  witness  to  its  balanced  and  desirable  beauty, 
even  if  only  in  the  negative  way  of  showing  the  horrors  that 
attend  its  opposite,  unbridled  arrogance  (vySpis).  The  cen- 
turies that  separated  Wagner  from  the  Greeks  brought  a 
change  in  religion,  which  had  its  effect  on  human  ideals.  The 
Greek  tragedians  wrote  for  a  people  which  believed  that  the 
man  who  offered  each  god  due  service,  and  violated  no  law  or 
custom,  would  be  favored  by  all  gods  in  return.  Orderliness 
and  refraining  from  excess  would  produce  the  most  satisfactory 
life,  in  the  end,  for  the  individual.  Wagner,  unorthodox  as 
he  was,  was  influenced  by  the  Christian  ideal  of  self-sacrifice, 
accepted  for  centuries  by  the  world  for  which  he  wrote.  As 
the  Greek  tragic  poets  were  constantly  showing  how  insolent 
pride  iv/3pi<;)  brought  destruction  on  the  man  who  flaunted 
it,  so  Wagner  shows  how  greed  (for  gold  or  for  power)  destroys 
those  who  harbor  it;  and  as  the  Greeks  exalt  the  virtues  of 
moderation  and  self-control  (both  included  in  <Tw<f)poa-vv7]),  so 
Wagner  exalts  the  love  that  rises  from  sympathy  and  leads  to 
forgetfulness  of  self  in  the  service  of  others.     Only  one  of 

1  Tristan  and  Isolde  is  a  possible  exception,  though  the  sympathy  that  led 
Isolde  to  heal  the  wound  of  the  enemy  she  had  wished  to  kill,  and  Tristan's 
loyalty  to  King  Mark,  which  made  him  choose  to  die  rather  than  attempt 
flight  with  Isolde,  should  not  be  ignored. 


\ 


GREEK   INFLUENCE    AND    GREEK   PARALLELS  17 

Wagner's  dramas,  and  only  one  of  the  Greek  tragedies  that 
l±cve  come  down  to  us,  has  an  historical  subject.  The  mas- 
tersingers  of  Nuremberg  and  the  Persian  hosts  had  probably 
nothing  in  common  beyond  their  worship  at  the  altar  of  the 
god,  Self-importance.  Both  subjects,  however,  gave  an 
opportunity  of  representing  within  the  hmits  of  history  the 
working  out  of  ideas  generally  best  embodied  in  a  mythical 
plot.  There  is  no  more  overwhelming  picture  of  ruin  caused 
by  ^/3pts  than  in  the  Persae,  and  no  more  beautiful  presenta- 
tion of  self-forgetting  service  than  in  the  character  of  Hans 
Sachs.  In  representing  the  customs  of  Nuremberg  Wagner 
is  historical,  as  Aeschylus  is  in  describing  the  battle  of  Salamis, 
but  the  greater  part  of  each  drama  is  interpretation.  Both 
subjects  also  give  the  writer  a  chance  to  praise  his  country 
—  Aeschylus  for  achievements  in  war,  Wagner  for  achievements 
in  song. 

Aiming  at  interpretation  rather  than  portraiture  of  Hfe, 
Wagner's  dramas,  like  the  Greek,  are  made  up  of  long  scenes, 
generally  between  two  or  three  characters  who  impress  us  as 
types  rather  than  individuals.  Far  from  being  mere  per- 
sonifications of  abstract  quahties,  they  pass  through  bitter 
agony  and  wildest  ecstasy,  yet  convey  a  suggestion  of  univer- 
saUty.  We  watch  Siegfried  forging  the  sword,  and  we  are 
conscious  of  more  than  the  son  of  Siegmund,  working  at  the 
anvil  in  a  cave.  We  are  conscious  of  the  swelling  vigor  of  all 
the  youth  in  the  world,  rising  as  sap  rises  in  spring  to  make 
the  forest  astir  with  life.  We  see  Wotan  bid  Briinnhilde 
farewell,  and  we  are  brought  into  touch  with  the  yearning 
sorrow  of  all  parents  who  must  let  the  children  they  would 
shelter  go  out  to  meet  Hfe's  dangers  alone.  We  look  upon 
Briinnhilde  lifting  the  torch  that  will  fire  Walhall,  or  Parsifal 
raising  the  Holy  Grail,  and  we  reaUze  how  those  have  suffered 
who  help  mankind.  Wagner's  characters,  like  the  Greek 
tragic  figures  —  and  also  like  the  Greek  statues  —  are  more 


18  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

than  replicas  of  individual  human  models.  The  essence  of 
countless  experiences  of  a  certain  kind  seems  to  have  bodi 
distilled,  and,  after  being  separated  from  the  foreign  sub- 
stances with  which  it  had  been  accidentally  mixed,  poured 
into  a  large  flask,  through  whose  clear  glass  we  see  the  pure 
color,  with  its  beauty  or  ughness  enhanced  by  the  shape  that 
holds  it.  So  we  see  the  tender  glow  of  a  daughter's  love  for 
her  stricken  father  through  the  forms  of  Antigone  in  the  Oedipus 
at  Colonus  and  Briinnhilde  in  Act  II  of  the  Walkure;  the 
death-dealing  blackness  of  hatred  through  the  Clytemnestra 
of  Aeschylus  and  the  Ortrud  of  Wagner;  the  perfect  clarity 
of  youthful  innocence  in  Ion  and  in  Elsa;  the  rich  warmth  of 
manly  sympathy  in  Theseus  (both  in  the  Oedipus  at  Colonus 
of  Sophocles  and  in  the  Heracles  of  Euripides)  and  in  Hans 
Sachs;  the  unquenchable  flame  of  courage  in  Prometheus 
and  in  Siegfried. 

The  suggestion  of  universality  is  heightened  in  Wagner's 
dramas  by  the  music,  and  in  the  Greek  plays  by  the  choral 
odes.  Wagner's  orchestra,  unlike  the  orchestras  of  earlier 
opera  composers,  assumed  many  of  the  functions  of  the  Greek 
Chorus,  and  Wagner  himself  was  the  first  to  call  attention 
to  this.!  He  probably  never  thought  of  a  Greek  ode  while 
composmg,  but  he  soon  recognized  that  it  was  through  the 
musical  band  (in  ancient  Athens,  the  Chorus;  in  our  day, 
the  orchestra)  that  the  significance  of  a  drama  could  be  indi- 
cated with  the  most  convincing  beauty.  A  comparison  of 
passages  from  his  scores  with  some  choral  odes  is  interesting 
as  showing  how  similar  effects  can  be  produced  by  two  forms 
of  artistic  expression,  both  of  which  reach  the  mind  through 
the  ear,  but  appeal  to  it  in  very  different  ways.  It  would 
be  possible  for  an  unmusical  person  —  provided  he  were  a 
classicist  —  to  gain,  by  just  such  a  comparison,  a  real  under- 
standing of  what  the  orchestra  contributes  to  Wagner's  works. 

Wagner's   liking  for   a  quiet   orchestral   ending  may  have 


GREEK   INFLUENCE    AND    GREEK   PARALLELS  19 

sprung  from  his  appreciation  of  such  conclusions  as  those  of 
the  Oedijms  Tyr annus  and  the  Antigone.  The  first  one  he 
wrote  comes  at  the  close  of  Tristan  and  Isolde,  which  was  the 
first  drama  finished  after  his  study  of  Greek  tragedy.  The 
Walkiire,  Gdtterddmmerung  and  Parsifal  also  conclude  with 
music  that  floats  gently  into  silence,  leaving  us  to  come  back 
to  ourselves  with  a  sigh,  instead  of  a  jolt. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    "oRESTEIA"   AND    "tHE   RING   OF  THE  NIBELUNG ' 
DRAMAS    OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT 


How  deep  an  impression  the  Oresteia  made  on  Wagner's 
imagination  we  have  already  seen,^  It  is  hardly  surprising, 
then,  to  find  him  calling  his  longest  work  a  trilogy.  In  reality, 
The  Ring  of  the  Nibelung  has  four  parts;  but  the  first  part  is 
entitled,  "The  Rhinegold.  Prelude  to  the  Trilogy  — The 
Ring  of  the  Nibelung,"  and  those  that  follow  are  respectively 
"First,  Second,  and  Third  Day  of  the  Trilogy." 

In  extent  and  in  seriousness  of  purpose,  the  Ring  and  the 
Oresteia  are  similar.  Both  embody  conceptions  of  right  and 
wrong,  involving  the  subordination  of  primitive  human  im- 
pulses to  the  dictates  of  a  higher  law.  They  are  dramas  of 
conflict,  ending  in  reconcihation,  and  suggesting  the  continu- 
ance of  its  blessing  in  the  lives  of  the  spectators. 

Complex  as  the  Ring  is,  every  step  in  the  progress  of  the 

action  emphasizes  the  idea  that  greed  causes  suffering  and 

leads  to  ruin,  while  joy  is  attained  only  through  love  and 

loving  sacrifice  of  self.     As  Wagner  exalts  love  in  its  noblest 

form,  so  Aeschylus  exalts  the  highest  form  of  justice.     Justice 

that  lets  no  wrong  go  unpunished,  and  yet  tempers  the  penalty 

by  careful  weighing  of  the  motive,,  is  evidently  guided  by 

aw<f>po(rvvr]^  and  becomes  the  ideal  of  the  enlightened  Greeks. 

The  more  primitive  conception  of  justice,  which  considered 

the  deed  without  reference  to  the  motive,  is  represented  by 

Clytemnestra  and  the  Erinyes,  and  the  more  primitive  idea 

1  p.  3. 
20 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  21 

of  love  as  the  longing  to  acquire,  rather  than  to  give,  is  repre- 
sented by  Wotan  in  Rheingold  and  Walkiire.  Wotan  puts 
aside  love,  to  indulge  his  personal  ambition,  and  by  so  doing 
ruins  himself  and  the  gods.  His  child,  Briinnhilde,  sacrifices 
all  in  order  to  be  true  to  it,  with  the  result  that  greed  is  over- 
thrown and  the  world  redeemed.  Similarly,  Clytemnestra 
violates  justice  to  consimimate  her  desire,  and  thus  brings 
death  to  herself  and  Aegisthus;  while  Orestes,  by  obeying 
the  just  dictates  of  Apollo,  becomes  an  agent  in  the  subduing 
of  the  powers  of  darkness  and  the  estabhshment  of  a  higher 
justice  on  earth. 

In  Rheingold,  we  find  Wotan  already  king  of  the  gods.  On 
his  spear  he  has  cut  the  laws  of  compact,  by  which  the  world 
is  ruled.  To  assure  his  supremacy,  Wotan  wants  an  impreg- 
nable fortress.  The  gods  cannot  build  it,  for  their  power  is 
of  the  mind  and  spirit,  and  the  piling  of  stones  can  be  accom- 
plished only  by  the  giants.  These  agree  to  build  the  castle, 
if  Wotan  will  surrender  to  them  as  payment  Freia,  goddess 
of  love.  Wotan,  confident  that  he  can  get  them  to  accept 
some  other  recompense  when  the  time  comes,  sends  Loge  to 
find  it.  But  Loge  discovers,  in  all  the  world,  only  one  creature 
who  will  take  a  substitute  for  love.  Alberich,  the  Nibelung, 
has  already  renounced  love,  in  order  to  make  a  bit  of  gold, 
stolen  from  the  Rhine,  into  a  magic  ring,  which  will  win  the 
whole  earth  for  its  owner.  The  giants  declare  that  they  will 
take  either  Alberich's  treasure,  or  Freia,  but  one  of  the  two 
they  must  have.  Wotan  disgraces  his  godhood  by  robbing 
Alberich  to  save  Freia  and  buy  the  castlej\  that  he  now  names 
Walhall.^  The  Rheingold  ends  with  a  display  of  pomp.  The 
gods  march  over  a  rainbow  bridge  to  their  fortress,  resplendent 
in  the  sunset.  To  the  eye  they  appear  secure,  as  Clytemnes- 
tra does  when  she  enters  her  palace  with  Aegisthus ;  but  here, 
also,  the  coming  retribution  has  cast  its  shadow  before.  As 
'  This  form  of  the  name  is  used  by  Wagner. 


22  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

the  prophetess,  Cassandra,  in  the  Agamemnon  (1279  ff.)  has 
foretold  Clytemnestra's  death,  so  Erda  has  risen  from  the 
heart  of  the  earth  to  warn  Wotan;  and  as  the  Chorus  refers 
to  the  coming  of  Orestes,  the  avenger  (1667),  and  says  to 
Aegisthus  (1669),  "Go  on,  grow  fat  polluting  justice,  since 
you  can,"  so  at  the  end  of  Rheingold,  Loge  foretells  the 
downfall  of  the  gods,  while  the  last  words  (sung  by  the 
Rhinemaidens  in  the  river  below)  are:  "False  and  afraid  are 
the  beings  who  flaunt  their  power  above." 

In  both  dramas  there  was  a  partial  excuse  for  the  crime. 
Agamemnon  was  not  innocent,  and  even  the  Chorus,  opposed 
to  Clytemnestra  as  they  are,  cannot  approve  the  deeds  to 
which  ambition  led  him  (228-237  and  790  ff.).  [  It  was  right 
that  Agamemnon  should  suffer,  but  it  was  wrong  for  Cly- 
temnestra to  kill  him  as  she  did.  It  was  equally  right  that 
the  gold  should  be  taken  from  Alberich.  He  had  stolen  it 
from  the  Rhine,  and  was  planning  to  use  it  for  evil.  The 
wrong  was  in  Wotan's  motive,  as  it  was  in  Clytemnestra's. 
He  never  intended  to  restore  the  gold  to  the  Rhine.  Instead, 
he  used  it  to  buy  the  castle  his  ambition  craved;  so  he  became 
subject  to  the  curse,  which  abides  in  the  ring,  as  the  dAao-Twp 
in  the  house  of  Atreus,  and  destroys  everyone  whose  hand 
seizes  it.  .i 

The  Walkiire  shows  how  Wotan  pays  the  penalty  for  the 
crime  committed  in  Rheingold.  Its  central  idea  is  indicated 
in  the  words  of  the  despairing  god  himself  (Act  II):  "I  laid 
hands  on  Alberich's  ring,  greedily  grasped  the  gold!  Of  the 
curse  that  I  fled  I  feel  the  clutch.  Whatever  I  love,  I  must 
lose,  I  must  kill  whatever  I  care  for,  deceiving,  betraying  him 
who  trusted  me." 

He  is  aware  of  the  connection  of  the  suffering  with  the 
crime,  as  Clytemnestra  is  {Choe.  888):  "By  guile  I  shall  be 
slain,  even  as  I  slew."  The  same  idea  is  expressed  even  more 
forcibly  by  Orestes  (923):    "On  thyself  thou,  not  I,  wilt  bring 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME    AND   ATONEMENT  23 

death."  The  retribution  for  Wotan's  crime,  however,  is  but 
half  completed  when  he  makes  the  lament  quoted.  Then 
he  has  been  forced  to  command  the  death  of  his  only  son. 
With  the  purpose  of  bringing  into  being  a  hero  who  could 
restore  the  ring,  Wotan  had  married  a  mortal,  and  their 
son,  Siegmund,  had  been  destined,  in  the  god's  belief,  to  re- 
deem the  world  from  the  curse  of  greed.  His  death  is  also 
the  death  of  Wotan's  plan  for  atonement.  It  is  Fricka,  god- 
dess of  custom,  who  makes  him  consent  to  this;  and  in  yield- 
ing to  her,  Wotan  again  violates  love,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  supremacy  of  the  gods.  But  his  daughter,  Briinnhilde, 
is  unable  to  follow  his  example.  She  tries  to  protect  Sieg- 
mund, and  so  loses  her  godhood,  and  separates  herself  from 
Wotan  forever.  Thus  the  god  discovers  that  the  penalty 
for  his  greed  is  the  loss  of  the  children  he  loves.  \ 

Up  to  this  point,  the  psychological  side  of  the  drama  is 
comparatively  simple.  Like  Clytemnestra,  Wotan  sinned 
and  met  punishment,  iti  which  his  own  child  was  an  agent. 
The  child's  motive  was  right,  where  the  parent's  had  been 
wrong,  but  the  child's  act,  viewed  without  regard  to  the  mo- 
tive, was  a  violation  of  the  holiest  traditions.  In  opposing 
Wotan,  Briinnhilde  defies  not  only  the  god  whose  will  rules 
the  world,  but  also  the  father  whose  love  has  given  her  every- 
thing. As  Clytemnestra  appeals  to  Orestes  by  emphasizing 
the  claim  of  her  motherhood,  causing  him  to  doubt,  for  a 
moment,  the  justice  of  his  act  (896-899),  so  Wotan  cries: 
"Hearest  thou,  Briinnhilde?  Thou  whose  breastplate,  hel- 
met and  weapons,  heart-winning  ways,  name  and  life,  are 
all  my  gift?"  Bmnnhilde  feels  that  she  has  done  wrong  to 
oppose  him,  and  also  that  she  has  done  right  in  fighting  for 
Siegmund.  So  the  psychological  conflict  begins,  which,  like 
that  in  the  soul  of  Orestes,  does  not  end  until  the  close  of 
the  drama,  when  the  two  warring  elements  become  reconciledJ 

The  last  two  divisions  of  the  Ring,  taken  together,  form  a 


24  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

drama  of  reconciliation  parallel  to  the  Eumenides.  In  Siegfried, 
Wotan  realizes  that  Briinnhilde,  through  her  defiance,  will 
accomplish  his  wish  —  the  restoration  of  the  ring.  In  Gotter- 
ddmmerung,  Briinnhilde  comes  to  understand  what  she  had 
always  felt  —  that  in  being  true  to  love  she  is  not  thwarting, 
but  fulfilling  Wotan's  desire.  Through  this  reconcihation 
the  purpose  of  both  is  accomphshed  —  the  conquest  of  greed 
by  love.  The  result  of  the  impressive  reconciliation  at  the 
close  of  the  Oresteia  is  similar.  True  justice  —  the  aim  of 
the  Eumenides  and  of  their  victim  —  is  estabUshed. 

How  far  one  may  go  in  analyzing  the  Ring  and  the  Oresteia 
and  still  continue  to  find  points  of  resemblance  is  indicated  in 
the  comparison  that  follows.  Probably  Wagner  did  not  know 
that  the  parallel  was  so  close;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
cannot  tell  how  differently  he  might  have  constructed  his 
drama,  if  he  had  not  read  and  responded  to  the  Oresteia  so 
enthusiastically. 

II 

Scene  IV  of  Rheingold  and  The  Conclusion  of  the 
Agamemnon 

In  the  final  scene  of  Rheingold,  as  in  the  conclusion  of  the 
Agamemnon,  the  first  great  crime  in  the  tragedy  has  been 
committed,  and  the  criminal  enjoys  his  hour  of  triumph.  But 
the  audience  realizes  the  moral  aspect  of  the  situation  to 
which  he  remains  blind;  for  the  dramatist  subordinates  the 
visible  to  the  spiritual  situation  in  such  a  way  that  every 
circumstance  of  triumph  becomes  an  omen  of  approaching 
ruin. 

While  Wotan,  regardless  of  his  sin  in  the  moment  of  victory 
is  not  unhke  Clytemnestra,  we  can  find  no  corresponding 
resemblance  between  their  victims.  Both  of  these,  however, 
have  been  entrapped  by  flattery  {Ag.  905  ff.  and  Rheingold, 
Scene  III),  and  the  mask  assumed  to  deceive  them  is  thrown 


DRAMAS    OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  25 

off  at  the  beginning  of  the  final  scene.  Wotan  says:  "Cap- 
tive thou  art,  I  hold  thee  bound,  caught  as  thou  wert 
dreaming  that  all  the  world  had  come  under  thy  power." 
Wotan's  attitude  is  Hke  Clytemnestra's  (1372-1373):  "Much 
that  was  said  before  to  serve  my  purpose  I  shall  contradict 
without  the  shghtest  shame."  The  way  in  which  the  crime 
was  committed  is  then  described  by  Aeschylus  through  the 
mouth  of  Clytemnestra,  but  represented  by  Wagner  on  the 
stage.  It  is  completed  when  Wotan  pulls  the  ring  from 
Alberich's  hand: 

Alb.  {with  a  hideous  shriek).  Woe  is  me,  broken  and  crushed, 
of  the  wretched  the  wretchedest  slave ! 

Wot.  {has  put  the  ring  on  his  finger  and  looks  at  it  with  satis- 
faction) .  Now  I  hold  what  exalts  me,  of  the  mighty  the  might- 
iest lord!" 

A  similarly  close  connection  between  the  victim's  misery  and 
the  victor's  satisfaction  is  expressed  in  vv.  1389-1392.  Wotan, 
after  he  has  secured  the  ring,  is  indifferent  to  Alberich  and  his 
threats.  Asked  by  Loge  if  he  has  hstened  to  them,  Wotan, 
lost  in  contemplation  of  the  ring,  answers,  "Let  him  enjoy 
his  sputtering  spleen!"  So  Clytemnestra, ,  having  gained 
her  purpose,  is  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  the  Chorus  (1393- 
1394  and  1403-1404):  "Since  these  things  are,  ye  revered 
elders  of  Argos,  rejoice,  if  you  like;  as  for  me,  I  exult.  .  .  . 
Whether  thou  wilt  praise  or  blame  me,  it  is  all  the  same." 
The  suggestion  of  the  consequences  of  the  crime  is  then 
made  by  the  orchestra  in  Rheingold,  by  the  Chorus  in  the 
Agamemnon  (1410-1411).  A  musical  effect  of  some  grandeur 
accompanies  Wotan's  words,  "Of  the  mighty  the  mightiest 
lord!"  but  the  Ring  motive  follows  immediately,  destroying, 
with  its  introduction  of  the  diminished  seventh,  the  impres- 
sion of  stability  given  by  the  preceding  harmonies.  When- 
ever the  ring  changes  hands,  the  new  owner's  gain  involves 


26  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

the  former  owner's  loss,  but  it  is  only  the  idea  of  loss  that 
receives  expression  in  the  Ring  motive.  It  was  the  Rhine- 
maidens'  loss  that  we  felt  when  the  motive  made  its  first 
appearance  in  the  score,  after  Alberich  had  stolen  the  gold; 
and  this  original  association,  added  to  the  harmonic  character 
of  the  motive  itself,  makes  it  always  ominous.  He  who  has 
wrested  the  ring  from  another  will  have  it  wrested  from  him 
in  turn. 

Even  before  taking  the  ring,  Wotan  has  justified  his  action, 
as  Clytemnestra  does  (1412  ff.  and  1497  ff.),  by  pointing  out 
that  his  victim  is  far  from  blameless.  Like  Clytemnestra, 
he  ignores  the  fact  that  his  selfish  motive  makes  it  impossible 
for  him  to  be  considered  merely  the  instrument  of  justice. 

His  infatuation  is  evident  in  his  scorn  for  the  curse  uttered 
by  Alberich.  The  fact  that  the  Nibelung  himself  has  already 
paid  for  seizing  the  gold,  by  exactly  such  suffering  as  he  now 
calls  down  on  Wotan's  head,  intensifies  the  ominous  signifi- 
cance of  his  imprecations  for  the  audience,  but  has  not  the 
slightest  effect  on  the  god.  Equally  significant  to  us,  and 
unimportant  to  Clytemnestra,  are  the  Chorus's  lines  (1426- 
1430):  ''In  dishonor,  bereft  of  friends,  thou  shalt  yet  be 
stricken  down  as  thou  didst  strike,"  of  which  the  last  two 
point  directly  to  Clytemnestra's  death  and  to  Choephoroi 
888:  "By  guile  I  shall  be  slain,  even  as  I  slew,"  as  Alberich's 
words  anticipate  the  moment  in  the  Walkiire  when  Wotan, 
suffering  for  the  crime  he  now  ignores,  says:  "Of  the  curse 
that  I  fled  I  feel  the  clutch."  But  in  Rheingold  he  has  no 
fear  of  such  suffering,  and  for  defence  against  any  whose 
hatred  he  may  have  incurred  he  reUes  on  his  fortress,  an 
external  aid  which  would  be  useless  as  protection  against 
moral  law,  and  for  which  Wotan  has  really  committed 
the  crime  from  whose  results  he  expects  it  to  save  him. 
Parallel  to  this  is  Clytemnestra's  relation  to  Aegisthus,  on 
whom  she  now  relies. 


DRAMAS  OF  CRIME  AND  ATONEMENT  27 

The  reference  to  a  higher  power,  to  which  even  the  evil 
force  so  active  in  the  drama  (the  curse  of  greed  in  Rheingold  — 
in  the  Agamemnon,  the  Sat'/xwv,  v.  1468)  is  subservient,  gives  us 
a  most  impressive  passage  in  Rheingold,  as  in  the  Agamemnon. 
With  Erda's  appearance,  and  the  marvellous  music  in  voice 
and  orchestra  that  distinguishes  this  part  of  the  score,  our 
thoughts  are  turned,  for  the  time,  from  the  ignoble  acts  we 
have  been  watching  to  something  greater  —  to  the  change- 
less source  of  all  the  changing  life  of  earth,  holding  in  its  un- 
fathomable mystery  the  resolution  of  the  discords  that  rend 
the  world.  Gods  and  giants  become  insignificant,  as  the 
Nature  motive  flows  from  the  orchestra,  and  Erda  sings,  A 
similar  turning  of  our  attention  from  the  crime  that  we  have 
been  contemplating  to  the  divine  plan,  in  which  all  things 
serve  a  purpose,  is  effected  by  vv.  1485-1488.  This  motif  ap- 
peared before  in  the  first  lyric  passage  of  the  drama  (160  ff.) 
as  the  Nature  motive  appeared  in  the  Vorspiel  to  Rheingold. 

In  Rheingold,  when  the  crime  is  past,  the  curse  of  greed, 
with  the  destruction  that  follows  in  its  wake,  is  still  kept  be- 
fore our  minds  by  the  quarrel  of  the  giants  and  the  murder  of 
Fasolt,  In  the  Agamemnon  an  old  crime  is  recalled  in  order 
that  the  horrible  persistence  of  the  Sai/Awv  may  be  fully  realized 
(1468-1471). 

The  lament,  essentially  lyric  in  character,  of  the  Rhine- 
maidens  for  their  lost  gold,  introduces  an  element  such  as  is 
supplied  by  the  €</>i;>tov  (1489-1496  and  1513-1520).  It 
serves  also  to  recall  the  mind  from  the  moral  aspects  of  the 
situation  to  the  concrete  object  on  which  the  crime  has  been 
perpetrated.  It  begins  with  the  cry  "Rheingold!"  as  the 
chorus  begins  (1489),  "0  king!"  It  concludes  with  a  refer- 
ence to  the  perpetration  of  the  crime,  "False  and  afraid  are 
the  beings  who  flaunt  their  power  above,"  as  does  the  itfivfiviov 
(1495-1496),  "Subdued  by  a  treacherous  destruction  with  the 
two-edged  weapon  in  the  hand  of  a  wife." 


28  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

The  link  that  connects  the  close  of  Rheingold  with  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Walkiire  is  in  the  orchestra.  The  Donner  motive, 
with  the  call,  "Heda!"  appears  again  in  measures  73-95  of 
the  Walkiire  Vorspiel.  Similarly  an  echo  of  axapiv  x^P^^ 
{Ag.  545)  is  found  in  x^P'*'  o.x^-p'-tov  (Choe.  42).  As  the 
emotional  storm  that  rages  from  beginning  to  end  of  Wal- 
kiire is  anticipated  by  the  actual  storm  in  Rheingold,  the 
Choephoroi  is  anticipated  by  Agamemnon  1541-1550. 

To  the  last  lyric  utterance  of  the  Chorus  in  the  Agamemnon 
we  can  find  parallels  —  mainly  in  the  orchestral  part  —  in 
Rheingold.  Walhall,  gilded  by  the  sunset,  is  glorious  in  the 
eyes  of  the  gods,  but  so  was  the  hoard  of  treasure  in  the  eyes 
of  Alberich.  Both  were  purchased  with  stolen  gold,  as  the 
Ring  motive  following  the  Walhall  motive  reminds  us,  when 
Wotan  sings,  "Abendhch  strahlt,"  etc.  We  might  well  say 
of  the  situation  in  Rheingold,  Bva-fmxa  8'  lort  Kplvai  (Ag.  1561). 
The  robber  Alberich  has  been  robbed  (cf.  Ag.  1562,  <^£/9ci 
<f}epovT';  tKTtvet  8'  6  Kaivwv).  Wotan  also  has  become  a  robber, 
and  the  Nature  motive,  that  follows  the  Ring  motive  while 
Wotan  is  silent,  brings  to  mind  again  the  law  that  is  stronger 
than  Wotan  and  Walhall,  that  cannot  leave  his  sin  un- 
punished any  more  than  Alberich's  (cf.  Ag.  1563-1564,  "The 
law  holds,  while  Zeus  holds  his  throne,  that  the  sinner  must 
suffer.     Thus  it  is  ordained"). 

Wotan 's  trials  have  brought  about  in  him  a  moral  change, 
incomplete,  but  important  and  such  as  Clytemnestra  never 
experiences.  It  makes  him  determine  to  right  the  wrong 
he  has  done.  He  stands  "as  though  seized  with  a  great  idea," 
while  we  hear  in  the  orchestra  the  Sword  motive.  Wotan 
raises  a  sword,  but  the  weapon  is  only  the  visible,  as  the  motive 
is  the  audible  symbol  of  his  purpose.  For  although  the  sword 
and  the  motive  are  closely  associated  in  the  Walkiire  and 
Siegfried,  one  of  the  most  significant  appearances  of  the  phrase 
occurs  when  the  sword  is  neither  in  sight  nor  in  mind.     It 


DRAMAS    OF    CRIME   AND    ATONEMENT  29 

is  when  greed,  embodied  in  Hagen,  is  conquered,  unable  to 
take  the  ring  from  the  hand  of  the  dead  Siegfried.  By  the 
Sword  motive,  that  episode  so  near  the  end  of  the  Goiter- 
ddmmerung  is  connected  with  this  passage  in  Rheingold.  And 
in  a  similar  way  Agamemnon  1565,  "Who  might  cast  the  tribe 
of  curses  from  the  house?"  anticipates  the  Eumenides,  and 
may  be  connected  with  Eumenides  754-761,  "0  Pallas,  thou 
who  hast  deHvered  my  house." 

As  the  Rheingold  draws  to  a  close,  the  centre  of  the  stage  is 
occupied  no  longer  by  Wotan,  but  by  Walhall.  To  gain  and 
hold  this  fortress  Wotan  has  committed  the  crime  out  of  which 
other  and  more  horrible  crimes  are  to  grow.  Wotan's  crime 
bears  much  the  same  relation  to  Walhall  as  Clytemnestra's 
does  to  Aegisthus,  who  occupies  the  foreground  in  the  cTrt'Aoyos 
of  the  Agamemnon.  It  is  on  Walhall  that  Wotan  relies  as 
a  defence  against  all  who  might  question  his  past  action  or 
his  future  right  to  rule.  Clytemnestra's  rehance  on  Aegisthus 
is  similar  (1434-1437).  The  stolen  ring  made  from  stolen 
gold  was  the  price  paid  for  Walhall,  but  the  connection 
between  them  is  closer  than  that.  The  ring  was  the  tool 
and  the  symbol  of  Alberich's  greed  —  what  is  Walhall  but 
the  tool  and  the  sjTnbol  of  Wotan's?  Each  motive  (in  its 
usual  form)  fills  two  measures,  and  in  the  first  of  these  two 
measures  the  rhythm  of  both  is  identical.  Now  the  Walhall 
motive  is  followed  by  the  Ring  motive,  which  accompanies 
Loge's  words,  "To  their  end  they  hasten,  they  who  think 
themselves  strong  and  secure."  Aegisthus,  when  he  enters 
at  the  close  of  the  ko/x/ao?,  makes  a  transient  impression  of 
power.  His  attendants  (1650)  are  about  him,  and  he  speaks 
of  the  revolting  crime  of  Atreus  in  a  way  that  makes  us  feel 
that  no  penalty  exacted  for  it  could  be  too  great.  His  weak- 
ness, however,  becomes  apparent,  first  in  the  vyS/jts  of  vv. 
1604-1611,  and  thereafter  in  the  rising  anger  with  which  he 
answers  the  taunts  of  the  Chorus.     Before  Clytemnestra  pro- 


30  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

nounces  the  last  words,  we  realize  that  the  support  on  which 
she  depends,  too  closely  involved  in  her  own  guilt  to  be 
of  any  avail,  is  doomed  to  perish  with  her.  This  is  sug- 
gested by  the  Chorus  (1646-1648):  ''Is  Orestes  alive,  that 
he  may  return  hither  and,  with  fortune's  aid,  vanquish  and 
slay  them  both?"  as  the  destruction  of  Wotan  and  his  castle 
is  foreseen  by  Loge. 

Ill 

The  Choephoroi  and  the  Ring 
The  Walkiire  begins  with  Wotan's  effort  to  atone  for  the 
wrong  that  he  has  done.  It  is  not  repentance,  however,  that 
prompts  him,  but  fear,  as  is  evident  from  his  revelations  to 
Briinnhilde  in  Act  II.  His  attempt  is  to  avert  "what  the  earth- 
goddess  made  me  fear  —  a  shameful  end  of  the  immortals." 
It  is  not  unlike  the  fear  that  moves  Clytemnestra  to  order  the 
propitiatory  libations  to  Agamemnon  {Choe.  32-33),  "pierc- 
ing, hair-raising  fear,  coming  to  the  house  in  dreams  as  a 
prophet  of  evil."  Neither  Clytemnestra  nor  Wotan  would 
have  made  such  attempts  if  their  fear  had  not  been  roused 
by  warnings,  terrifying  because  of  their  partial  obscurity  and 
their  supernatural  origin.  Wotan's  warning  followed  his 
crime  immediately,  and  the  reparation  he  planned  required 
many  years,  but  all  this  makes  his  attempt  no  less  futile  than 
Clytemnestra's.  If  Siegmund,  after  finding  Wotan's  sword, 
had  lived  to  kill  Fafner  and  given  the  ring  back  to  the  Rhine, 
who  but  the  god,  blinded  by  his  love  of  power,  could  then 
think  that  his  crime  was  as  though  it  had  never  been?  As 
long  as  Wotan  lives  in  the  castle  bought  by  the  ring,  the  stain 
of  guilt  remains  on  him,  as  it  must  always  remain  on  Cly- 
temnestra {Choe.  48).  His  endeavor  to  bring  about  through 
Siegmund  the  incomplete  reparation  which  is  all  he  considers 
necessary  leads  to  the  revolt  of  Briinnhilde  and  so  to  the 
complete  reparation,   involving  the  fall  of  the  gods.     In   a 


DRAMAS    OF    CRIME    AND    ATONEMENT  31 

similar  way,  the  sending  out  of  libation-pourers  by.  Clytem- 
nestra  to  appease  the  spirit  of  Agamemnon  brings  about  the 
meeting  of  Orestes  and  Electra,  furthering  the  real  appease- 
ment through  Clytemnestra's  death. 

There  is  even  a  recognition-scene  between  brother  and 
sister  to  make  the  first  act  of  the  Walkiire  more  like  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Choephoroi.  The  relation  of  the  characters  to 
the  central  idea  in  the  two  dramas  is  not  the  same,  for  here  it  is 
not  Briinnhilde,  but  Siegmund,  who  becomes  the  comiterpart 
of  Orestes.  The  scene  is  noteworthy,  however,  both  as  an 
instance  of  parallel  dramatic  construction  occurring  in  the 
same  relative  place  in  the  development  of  the  plot,  and  as  the 
only  dvayvcoptcrts  in  Wagner.  Here,  also,  it  is  the  sister  who 
recognizes  the  brother,  and  to  whom  the  recognition  means 
more.  The  first  two  steps  toward  recognition  Sieglinde  takes 
alone,  as  Electra  does  when  examining  the  lock  of  hair  and 
the  footprints.  It  is  by  Siegmund's  resemblance  to  herself 
that  she  is  surprised:  "ein  Wunder  will  mich  gemahnen,"  etc. 
The  third  step  is  taken  only  with  Siegmund's  aid.  His  reve- 
lation of  his  father's  name  is  parallel  to  the  production  of  the 
mantle  by  Orestes,  and  calls  forth  an  outburst  of  joy  similar  to 
vv.  235-237.  Both  Siegmund  and  Orestes  have  come  to  claim 
their  heritage,  Siegmund  his  father's  sword,  and  Orestes  his  \ 
father's  kingdom.  -^ 

In  the  beginning  of  the  Walkiire  Wagner,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  Ring,  introduces  characters  that  win  our  sympathy. 
Wotan's  failings  and  Alberich's  vindictiveness  are  so  obvious 
that  it  is  impossible  ever  to  forget  that  their  sufferings  are 
deserved.  With  Siegmund  and  Sieglinde  it  is  different.  Act- 
ing from  generous  impulses,  but  constantly  misunderstood, 
innocently  suffering  for  Wotan's  sin,  they  gain  our  sympathy 
at  once.  So  in  the  first  half  of  the  Choephoroi  all  is  calculated 
to  enlist  our  sympathy  for  Orestes.  An  earher  introduc- 
tion of  the  murder  might  have  left  the  audience,  as  it  would 


32  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

surely  leave  the  modern  reader,  in  the  same  frame  of  mind  as 
at  the  end  of  the  Agamemnon  —  admitting  the  justice  of  the 
deed,  but  repelled  by  the  perpetrator.  Aeschylus  creates  a 
different  attitude  by  emphasizing  the  suffering  of  Electra 
and  Orestes,  deprived  through  a  parent's  sin  of  their  rightful 
heritage  {Choe.  130-137,  249-254,  332-339,  407-409,  444-449). 
The  appeal  to  our  sympathy  in  the  Choephoroi,  as  in  the  Walkiire, 
is  enhanced  by  introducing  the  pathetic  figure  of  the  sister, 
seen  first  in  a  state  of  enforced  subjection  to  those  she  cannot 
love  {Choe.  132-135). 

When  Bininnhilde,  in  the  second  act  of  the  Walkiire,  dis- 
obeys Wotan  and  defends  Siegmund,  her  action  produces  a 
deflection  of  the  drama's  course  much  like  that  effected  by  the 
murder  of  Clytemnestra.  Up  to  this  point  the  motive  power 
behind  every  act,  even  SiegUnde's  escape  with  Siegmund, 
has  been  personal  desire,  but  Brtinnhilde's  resolution  grows 
out  of  the  purest  unselfishness.  The  moral  force  here  acting 
through  her  —  that  of  unselfish  love  —  is  to  prevail  in  the 
end  of  the  drama,  as  the  cause  of  Orestes  is  to  be  vindicated 
in  the  Eumenides.  In  the  Choephoroi,  Orestes  appears  less 
as  a  murderer  than  as  the  agent  through  whom  Clytemnestra's 
crime  is  punished.  He  commits  the  murder  at  Apollo's 
command  and  under  threat  of  penalties  indescribably  hor- 
rible if  he  should  fail  to  obey.  He  is  the  first  of  the  many 
murderers  in  the  family  of  the  Pelopidae  whose  motives  are 
not    utterly    base.     Self-interest    is    not    absent,    it    is    true 

(kol    irpos    TTie'^et    )(priixa.TOiv    axrjvCa,    301),    but     it     leads     OresteS 

to  seek  not,  like  his  forerunnners,  the  possessions  of  another, 
but  his  own  rightful  heritage.  His  motive,  like  Briinnhilde's, 
is  far  higher  than  that  of  the  parent  he  opposes,  and  his  vic- 
tory, like  hers,  proves  to  be  incomplete;  and  when  her  suffer- 
ing begins,  with  her  capture  by  Siegfried  in  the  guise  of 
Gunther,  her  state  of  mind  is  not  unhke  that  of  Orestes  when 
he  first  sees  the  Erinyes  {Choe.  1048-1050  and  1054). 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  33 

It  is  noteworthy  that  Briinnhilde,  Hke  Wotan,  acts  on  im- 
pulse, and  learns,  only  after  much  suffering,  to  understand 
the  full  significance  of  her  act  and  the  feehngs  behind  it,  while 
both  Orestes  and  Clytemnestra  make  elaborate  plans,  and 
commit  the  murders  with  eyes  open  to  the  extent  of  the  crime. 
They  see  themselves  and  their  opponents  in  the  clear  light  of 
a  Greek  sun,  while  Wotan  and  Briinnhilde,  dashing  through 
the  mist  of  the  North,  mistake  foe  for  friend  and  friend  for 
foe  until  too  late.  Nothing  could  be  farther  from  Briinn- 
hilde's  thoughts  when  she  defends  Siegmund  than  the  fact 
that  she  is  thus  preparing  the  way  for  the  god's  downfall. 
The  cause  and  excuse  for  her  act  is  love.  In  the  oracle  of 
Apollo,  Aeschylus  gives  Orestes  more  obvious  support.  This 
is  part  of  the  clearer  outhning  of  issues  throughout  the  Oresteia. 
The  real  difference,  however,  lies  rather  in  the  means  used 
to  define  the  situation  than  in  the  situation  itself.  Aeschylus 
shows  that  Orestes  obeys,  as  Clytemnestra  did  not,  a  pure 
and  just  power;  and  he  represents  it  under  one  of  the  forms 
that  represented  it  in  Greek  religion  —  the  oracle  at  Delphi. 
Wagner  represents  what  Briinnhilde  obeys,  and  what  he  con- 
sidered the  highest  motive  power  in  the  world,  not  through 
any  intermediate  symbol,  but  simply  by  its  effect  on  her  char- 
acter and  action.  She  justifies  her  cause  by  referring  to  the 
love  for  Siegmund  taught  her  by  Wotan,  as  Orestes  refers 
to  Apollo's  prophecy.  Relying  on  it  beforehand,  she  answers 
Wotan's  command  that  she  cause  Siegmund's  death  with  the 
same  confidence  that  rings  in  the  reply  of  Orestes  to  the  fear 
of  the  Chorus  that  someone  might  overhear  and  betray  him 
to  Clytemnestra  (269-270).  Afterward  she  defends  her  act 
by  referring  to  it  (Walkure,  Act  III,  "Die  im  Kampfe  Wotan," 
etc.),  as  Orestes,  after  the  crime,  proclaims  (1026-1033),  €ws  8' 


34  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

IV 

The  Eumenides  and  the  Ring 
The  Gotterdammerung  opens  with  the  scene  of  the  Norns, 
who,  hke  the  Pythian  priestess  in  the  beginning  of  the  Eu- 
menides, appear  only  once.  The  scene  does  not  advance  the 
action,  but  rouses  a  vague  dread,  which  grows  later  into  a 
definite  fear.  Without  the  Norn  scene,  which  is  unfortunately 
often  omitted  in  performances,  the  Gotterdammerung  would 
begin  with  sunrise  on  the  mountain-top,  with  Brlinnhilde's 
ecstatic  farewell  to  Siegfried.  There  is  no  hint,  in  this  second 
scene  of  the  Gotterdammerung  Prologue,  of  the  tragic  struggle 
about  to  begin.  It  inspires  confidence  and  looks  forward  to 
victory,  like  the  first  words  of  Apollo  to  Orestes  {Eum.  64-66). 
Had  Aeschylus  made  this  the  beginning  of  the  Eumenides, 
our  first  impressions  would  have  been  quite  different,  although 
even  here  the  strength  of  the  enemy  is  tacitly  recognized, 
while  Briinnhilde  and  Siegfried  are  unconscious  of  any  enemy's 
existence.  Like  the  Erinyes,  Hagen,  the  vindictive  figure 
that  dominates  Gotterdammerung  has  not  yet  been  brought 
on  the  stage,  but  his  coming  has  been  prophesied  by  Wotan  in 
Walkilre,  Act  II  ("  Jetzt  versteh'  ich  den  stummen  Sinn  —  den 
Freien  erlang  ich  mir  nie").  This  passage,  however,  will  not 
bear  comparison  with  the  preparation  for  the  appearance  of 
the  Erinyes  which  comes  at  the  end  of  the  Choephoroi  (1048- 
1061)  and  is  in  itself  a  powerful  dramatic  moment.  The 
Norn  scene,  on  the  other  hand,  is  in  no  way  inferior  to  the 
opening  of  the  Eumenides.  In  the  spinning  of  the  rope  of 
fate  we  behold  a  ritual  producing  the  impression  of  eternal 
continuity.  To  an  audience  brought  under  the  domination 
of  this  impression  the  sudden  breaking  of  the  rope  is  a  terrific 
shock.  Woven  in  with  its  threads,  the  curse  of  greed  has 
eaten  through  them  —  we  cannot  expect  anything  to  escape 
from  such  destructive  power. 


DRAMAS    OF   CRIME    AND    ATONEMENT  35 

The  individuality  of  the  priestess,  hke  that  of  the  Norns, 
has  been  lost  in  her  office.  Formal  calm  pervades  the  invo- 
cation emphasizing  the  dignity  of  the  oracle  and  the  main- 
tenance of  law  and  order  throughout  its  history  (vv.  5,  7,  12, 
15,  17-18).  This  enhances  the  startling  effect  of  her  terror 
at  finding  the  holy  spot  profaned  by  loathsome  creatures. 
The  mere  sight  of  them  asleep  drives  her  cowering  from  her 
rightful  place  —  how,  then,  can  we  expect  Orestes  to  survive 
the  horror  of  their  active  pursuit?  The  effect  that  Aeschylus 
produces  by  a  few  lines  of  description,  46-56,  Wagner  produces 
by  suggestion  of  the  vaguest  sort.  Through  the  eyes  of  the 
priestess,  Aeschylus  gives  us  our  first  glimpse  of  the  hideous 
band  in  the  temple,  while  Wagner  shrouds  in  mysterious 
gloom  the  form  of  the  evil  that  he  makes  us  fear.  We  have 
noted  such  differences  before. 

The  last  words  of  the  priestess  (60-64)  indicate  the  shift- 
ing of  the  scene  from  the  plane  of  mortal  to  that  of  celestial 
activity.  In  the  Agamemnon  the  course  of  events  was  di- 
rected by  the  will  of  Clytemnestra ;  in  the  Choephoroi  the 
characters  are  mortals,  but  the  controlling  power  is  the  oracle 
of  Apollo.  In  the  Eumenides,  however,  though  it  deals  pri- 
marily with  the  fate  of  Orestes,  the  active  characters  —  Apollo, 
Athene,  and  the  Erinyes  —  are  all  superhuman.  A  similar 
shifting  —  though  in  the  opposite  direction  —  takes  place  in 
the  Ring.  In  the  Rheingold  no  mortal  appears;  they  enter 
the  drama  with  the  opening  of  the  Walkiire,  where  they  begin 
at  once,  though  unconsciously,  to  thwart  the  gods.  In  the 
Gotterddmmerung  every  leading  character  is  at  least  half  human, 
and  it  is  their  action  that  decides  the  fate  of  the  gods  and  the 
world.  It  is  to  this  change  that  the  end  of  the  Norn  scene 
points. 

In  the  Eumenides,  clouds,  darkly  threatening,  seem  to 
gather  as  the  priestess  speaks  (34-63),  but  before  the  storm 
breaks    (130)    the   sun   looks   between    them    for    a    moment 


36  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

(64-93),  and  in  its  brilliant  strength  we  read  the  promise  of 
clearer  days  to  come.  Apollo,  whom  Orestes  obeyed,  stands 
before  us  in  his  own  temple,  guarding  and  promising  to  guard 
forever  his  faithful  follower.  The  preceding  scene  had  closed 
with  the  intimation  that  it  would  be  left  to  Apollo  to  cope 
with  the  Erinyes,  and  his  first  words  (64-67)  show  him  ready 
to  undertake  the  responsibility  and  confident  of  success.  He 
does  not  underestimate  the  foe,  but  he  sees  the  road  to  ulti- 
mate victory  (74-75  and  78-84). 

A  similar  effect  is  produced  by  the  transition  to  the  scene 
between  Siegfried  and  Briinnhilde.  In  the  darkest  hour  of 
night  the  Norns  sink  into  the  yawning  earth,  leaving  behind 
them  the  curse  that  neither  the  spear  of  the  god  nor  the  threads 
of  fate  could  withstand.  We  are  waiting  to  see  it  move  upon 
its  next  victim,  when  Wagner  flashes  before  our  eyes  the  light 
that  is  finally  to  dispel  its  gloom.  The  second  scene  of  the 
Prologue  is  a  symphonic  paean  of  love.  The  rising  sun  shines 
on  the  mountain,  as  Briinnhilde  bids  farewell  to  the  hero  whom 
she  sends  "to  new  deeds."  These  words,  Hke  Apollo's  "I 
will  not  abandon  thee,"  are  significant.  The  only  characters 
in  the  Ring  who  achieve  "deeds,"  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
word,  are  Siegfried  and  Briinnhilde.  The  tremendous  task 
of  combating  the  power  of  greed  has  been  left  to  them  by 
Wotan  {Sf.  Ill,  1).  The  end  of  the  Norns'  weaving  is  only 
a  second  indication  that  the  fall  of  the  gods  —  first  signal- 
ized by  the  breaking  of  Wotan 's  spear  —  is  at  hand.  The 
old  order  is  at  an  end,  and  the  Norns'  last  words  characterize 
it:  "To  the  world  the  wise  prophesy  no  more."  Where  Wotan 
has  talked,  Briinnhilde  acts.  His  prophecies  are  no  longer 
needed,  but  her  "world-redeeming  deed"  is.  When  Briinnhilde 
says  "To  new  deeds,"  she  is  thinking  of  deeds  to  be  per- 
formed by  Siegfried,  but  the  words  are  sung  to  the  Briinnhilde 
motive. 

After  inspiring  dread  of  the  Erinyes  by  the  priestess's  mono- 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  37 

logue,  and  showing  us  in  Apollo  the  power  that  is  to  prove 
stronger  than  they,  Aeschylus  wakens  them  before  our  eyes. 
Wagner,  following  the  same  order  in  the  Prologue,  rouses 
forebodings  by  the  Norn-scene,  then  paints  for  us,  in  the 
most  luminous  colors  of  his  orchestral  palette,  the  love  that 
is  finally  to  prevail  over  the  evil  forces  of  the  drama,  and 
after  that,  in  Scene  I  of  Act  I,  he  brings  before  us  the  char- 
acter in  which  our  forebodings  and  the  evil  forces  culminate 
—  Hagen.  In  Hagen  the  curse  of  greed,  whose  devastating 
course  we  have  watched  in  the  earlier  parts  of  the  drama,  is 
given  bodily  form.  This  curse  has  been  represented  pre- 
viously only  in  the  orchestra,  by  the  Curse  motive;  in  the 
Gdtterddmmerung  Wagner  puts  it  on  the  stage  as  well.  The 
Erinyes  are  a  similar  personification  of  the  force  which  Aes- 
chylus has  shown  us  at  work  in  the  Agamemnon  and  the 
Choephoroi  —  the  force  which  brings  upon  the  murderer  pun- 
ishment horrible  and  inevitable.  Hitherto  our  attention  has 
been  called  to  this  force  chiefly  by  the  words  of  the  Chorus, 
who  present  the  idea  to  us  (as  the  orchestra  in  the  Ring  pre- 
sents the  idea  of  the  curse  of  greed)  in  various  connections: 
when  they  anticipate  the  death  Agamemnon  is  to  suffer  as 
penalty  for  the  slaughter  of  Iphigenia  —  either  in  vague 
expressions  (Ag.  154-155,  250-251),  or  more  definitely,  as 
in  461-468,  where  the  word  Erinyes  is  noteworthy,  and  in 
1335-1342 — and  when  they  anticipate  the  similar  penalty 
to  be  paid  by  Clytemnestra  (Choe.  66-70,  312-314,  400-404, 
649-651).  That  the  Erinyes  in  the  Eiimenides  are  the  em- 
bodiment of  this  power  is  evident  at  once,  and  is  confirmed 
by  such  passages  as  Eumenides,  261-268,  316-320,  354-359. 
Hagen,  who  is  incapable  of  feeling  anything  but  greed  and 
hatred,  and  the  Erinyes,  who  drain  the  murderer's  life-blood, 
are  by  their  nature  forever  set  apart  from  associates.  When 
Siegfried  asks  Hagen  why  he  does  not  join  in  the  oath  of  blood- 
brotherhood,  he  answers,  "My  blood  would  defile  your  drink! 


38  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

It  flows  not  pure  and  noble  like  yours,  but  cold  and  benumbed 
it  curdles  in  me;  it  will  not  bring  red  to  my  cheek,"  and  in 
Act  II  he  says,  "Old  in  my  youth,  sallow  and  pale,  I  hate  the 
happy,  I  never  am  glad."  His  strange  pallor  and  ungainli- 
ness  make  him  appear  less  than  human,  but  this  is  insig- 
nificant compared  with  the  "makeup"  of  the  Erinyes,  if  it 
approached,  even  remotely,  the  picture  Aeschylus  paints. 
They  are  set  apart  from  all  other  immortals,  as  Hagen 
is  from  mortals  (68-73):  "Asleep  they  lie,  the  loathsome 
maidens,  grey  and  aged,  with  whom  no  god  associates,  nor 
man,  nor  beast;  for  evil,  they  came  into  being,  and  in  evil 
darkness  they  dwell,  in  Tartarus  under  the  earth,  things  hateful 
to  men  and  to  gods  Olympian."  Compare  also  190-193,  and 
349-352:  "At  birth  this  lot  was  put  upon  us,  from  immortals 
to  keep  our  hands  afar,  and  there  is  none  that  shares  our 
feasts  as  a  friend." 

What  Alberich  could  not  accompHsh  has  become  Hagen's 
task  —  the  recovery  of  the  ring  and  the  destruction  of  Wotan 
and  Siegfried  —  and  the  brief  scene  at  the  opening  of  the  second 
act,  where  Alberich  tries  to  urge  his  son  on,  recalls  at  times 
the  speech  with  which  Clytemnestra  attempts  to  rouse  the 
sleeping  Erinyes.     The  scene  begins: 

"(Hagen,  with  spear  in  hand  and  shield  at  his  side,  sits  sleep- 
ing by  the  castle  entrance.     The  moon  suddenly  throws  a 
glaring  light  on  him  and  his  surroundings;  Alberich  is  seen 
in  front  of  Hagen,  leaning  his  arms  on  Hagen's  knee.) 
Alb.     Sleepest  thou,  Hagen,  my  son?  —  Thou  sleepest  and 
hearest  me  not,  whom  rest  and  sleep  betrayed? 

Hag.  (speaks  low,  without  moving,  so  that  he  seems  to  sleep  on, 
though  his  eyes  are  open  and  staring).  I  hear  thee,  wicked 
dwarf:  what  hast  thou  to  say  to  my  sleep?" 

Clytemnestra's  first  lines  are  (94-95):  "Ye  would  sleep,  aha! 
—  and  what  need  is  there  of  sleepers?    So  am  I  left  by  you 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  39 

in  dishonor."  A  little  further  on  she  expresses  the  idea  found 
in  Hagen's  reply  {Eum.  104),  "In  sleep  the  heart  becomes 
clear-sighted."  In  Alberich's  appeal,  and  in  Clytemnestra's, 
two  motives  are  developed  —  the  speaker's  claim  to  the 
listener's  aid  and  the  strength  and  apparent  freedom  of  their 
enemies.  Their  only  chance  of  success  lies  in  unremitting 
endeavor. 

While  Alberich's  part  in  this  scene  corresponds  to  that 
played  by  Clytemnestra's  eiSwAov,  it  is  Wotan  who  has  been 
her  counterpart  before.  In  character,  however,  he  is  funda- 
mentally different.  For  Wotan  comes  at  last  to  realize  his 
sin,  and  to  desire  supremacy  for  what  is  best  in  the  world, 
rather  than  for  himself.  Moreover,  even  in  the  beginning, 
when  Wotan  ordered  the  building  of  Walhall,  his  purpose 
reached  beyond  personal  gratification.  By  means  of  the 
castle,  Wotan  aimed  to  make  "eternal  might"  visible  to  a 
world  that  should  bow  before  it,  and  the  "might"  was  to  be 
Wotan's  own,  it  is  true;  but  he  also  aimed  to  exalt  "man's 
honor,"  and  the  nobility  of  character  for  which  the  phrase 
stood  to  him  is  expressed  in  the  majestic  chords  of  the  Walhall 
motive.  Such  a  combination  of  good  and  evil  as  Wagner  has 
indicated  in  Wotan,  Aeschylus  indicates  in  the  Erinyes.  In 
so  far  as  the  Erinyes  judge  from  external  circumstances  alone, 
and  insist  on  inflicting  the  full  penalty  on  one  whose  motives 
were  blameless,  their  defeat  is  deserved;  but  in  their  better 
aspect,  as  Sai/xoves  who  inspire  the  fear  of  wrongdoing,  they 
are  not  to  be  disdained.  In  the  splendid  scene  of  reconcilia- 
tion with  which  the  Eumenides  concludes,  the  Erinyes  dis- 
card their  revolting  attributes,  and,  as  beneficent  deities,  are 
led  to  their  new  shrine  by  the  people  of  Attica.  The  Ring 
also  ends  in  a  reconciliation,  by  which  the  survivors,  and  the 
world  they  represent,  are  supposed  to  gain.  The  reconcilia- 
tion is  between  Wotan's  noblest  aims  and  Briinnhilde's  action, 
and  is  indicated  in  the  score  by  the  harmonious  alternation 


40  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

of  the  motives  of  Walhall  and  Redemption  by  Love.  In  Sieg- 
fried, Wotan  casts  off  greed,  and  its  evil  power  in  Gotter- 
ddmmerung  is  concentrated  in  Hagen,  who,  Uke  the  evil  aspect 
of  the  Erinyes,  pursues  an  innocent  victim  only  to  be  over- 
thrown in  the  end.  In  other  words,  Wagner  has  allotted 
separately  to  Wotan  and  to  Hagen  such  qualities  as  are  united 
in  the  Erinyes,  and  has  united  in  Wotan  a  will,  strong  and 
supremely  selfish,  like  Clytemnestra's,  and  an  innate  desire 
for  the  maintenance  of  right  and  justice,  which  corresponds 
to  the  better  aspect  of  the  Erinyes. 

The  remarkable  effect  produced  by  the  conclusion  of  the 
Eumenides  is  partly  due  to  the  way  in  which  Aeschylus  ex- 
tends the  boundaries  of  his  drama  until  the  audience  is,  in  a 
sense,  included  and  made  to  feel  that  the  final  issue  concerns 
them  directly.  When  Wagner  read  the  Eumenides  he  must 
have  been  impressed  by  this,  and  it  may  be  that  he  was  con- 
sciously influenced  by  it  in  writing  the  conclusions  of  his 
later  works.  The  subjects  do  not,  of  course,  permit  of  so 
close  a  connection  with  any  locality  or  people  as  in  the  Eu- 
menides, and  even  if  they  did,  any  emphasis  of  this  aspect 
would  lessen  their  interest  for  the  international  public  to  which 
modern  opera  appeals.  It  is  true,  however,  that  the  endings 
of  the  Ring,  Meister singer,  and  Parsifal,  like  that  of  the  Eu- 
menides, create  in  the  hearer  a  feeling  that  what  marks  the 
end  of  the  drama  also  marks  a  possible  beginning  for  himself. 
When  the  final  scene  of  the  G otter ddmmerung  opens,  Hagen's 
success  has  brought  us  into  that  hopeless  mood  in  which  noth- 
ing seems  certain  except  destruction.  With  Siegfried  dead 
and  Briinnhilde  captured,  it  appears  that  even  the  noblest 
natures  are  doomed  to  be  crushed  by  the  power  of  greed. 
Voicing  this  feeling,  the  motive  of  the  Fall  of  the  Gods  descends 
in  the  orchestra  as  Briinnhilde  enters.  It  is  the  phrase  heard 
in  Rheingold,  just  after  Erda  sang,  "All  that  is  —  ends!" 
Now,  as  the  first  word  comes  from  Brlinnhilde's  Hps,  the  motive 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  41 

suddenly  turns  and  rises  —  it  becomes  the  motive  of  growth 
{Nature  motive),  and  it  flows  toward  us  with  the  same  calm 
movement,  the  same  suggestion  of  inexhaustible  life  that  it 
had  when  we  heard  it  at  the  opening  of  Rheingold.  It  makes 
us  feel  instinctively  that  something  new  and  good  will  spring 
again  from  the  earth  laid  waste  by  the  curse  of  greed,  and  as 
we  hear  the  motive  with  the  first  sound  of  Brlinnhilde's  voice, 
we  look  to  her  to  tell  us  what  this  may  be.  It  is  to  us  that  we 
expect  her  to  reveal  it,  because  there  is  no  one  on  the  stage 
who  would  desire  or  understand  her  message.  Hagen  would 
not,  and  the  inmates  of  the  Gibichung  castle,  who  watch 
Briinnhilde  in  silence,  are  ignorant  of  the  tragic  series  of  events 
of  which  they  are  witnessing  the  conclusion.  Their  presence 
on  the  stage,  however,  saves  Briinnhilde  from  appearing  to 
commune  with  herself  —  which  would  be  quite  out  of  place 
at  this  point  —  and  as  they  are  men  and  women  listening  to 
Briinnhilde,  they  are  a  kind  of  representation  of  the  audience, 
transferred  to  the  scene  and  period  of  the  drama,  as  the  Chorus 
of  irpoTTOfjitroL  at  the  close  of  the  Eumenides  is  a  representation 
of  Athenian  citizens  such  as  those  who  were  originally  looking 
on.  It  is  impossible  to  hear  Briinnhilde,  after  referring  to  the 
contradictions  between  the  character  and  the  experience  of 
Siegfried,  ask  the  question:  "Know  ye  how  that  came  to  be?" 
and  not  feel  that  we  are  addressed;  just  as  the  Attic  audience 
must  have  felt  that  they  were  referred  to  in  the  last  line  of 
Athene's  promise  to  the  Erinyes  (804-807):  "I  promise  in 
righteousness  that  ye  shall  have  homes  and  secret  sanctuaries 
in  a  righteous  land,  seats  on  shining  thrones  by  the  altars, 
and  honor  paid  you  by  these  townsfolk  here."  Briinnhilde 
recognizes  the  necessity  for  the  suffering  forced  upon  her: 
"Betrayed  I  had  to  be  by  the  purest  of  heroes,  that  a  woman 
be  wise."  So  she  acknowledges  her  submission  to  the  law  of 
experience  which  is  emphasized  throughout  the  Oresteia,  and 
is  expressed  in  the  words  which    characterize  Zeus  as  {Ag. 


42  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

176-178)  "him  that  put  mortals  on  the  road  to  wisdom,  ordain- 
ing that  knowledge  should  come  by  suffering."  What  Briinn- 
hilde  has  learned  —  the  answer  to  the  expectations  roused  by 
the  Nature  motive  at  her  entrance  —  is  revealed  by  her  action 
and  by  the  music.  The  motive  of  Redemption  by  Love  appears 
in  the  orchestra  when  Briinnhilde  prepares  to  cast  herself 
upon  the  blazing  funeral  pyre  of  Siegfried,  and  it  rises  with 
her  excitement,  each  repetition  beginning  a  semitone  higher, 
until  she  leaps  on  her  horse  and  gallops  into  the  flames.  Un- 
like the  other  motives  equally  important  in  the  score,  this  one 
has  not  been  heard  often.  It  has  appeared  only  once  before, 
in  the  last  act  of  the  Walkiire,  when  Sieglinde  pays  homage 
to  Briinnhilde's  generous  love  —  and  while  this  prevents  it 
from  seeming  extraneous  to  the  drama,  the  fact  that  it  has 
not  yet  been  worked  out  to  its  logical  end  (like,  for  instance, 
the  motives  of  the  Sword  and  the  Curse)  gives  it  the  effect 
of  a  suggestion  made  to  us  personally.  Greed,  as  a  moving 
principle  in  life,  has  failed;  love  waits  for  us  to  give  it  a  trial. 
We  may  perhaps  find  a  similar  suggestion  in  Eumenides,  990- 
995,  "From  these  dread  beings  I  see  great  good  coming  to  you 
citizens  here;  if  with  grace  in  your  hearts  you  tender  these 
gracious  spirits  high  honor  forever,  yours  will  be  the  glory 
of  keeping  both  land  and  city  wholly  righteous  in  judgment." 
All  through  the  Oresteia  we  have  seen  that  the  murderer  cannot 
escape  suffering  for  his  crime  {Ag.  462-466),  and  now,  at  the 
end,  it  is  implied  that  if  we,  the  audience,  follow  the  opposite 
course  to  that  taken  by  Agamemnon  and  Clytemnestra,  we 
shall  be  blest  as  they  were  ruined.  This  beneficent  aspect 
of  the  Erinyes  has  been  touched  upon  already  in  Eumenides, 
312-315  and  537-551,  but,  Hke  the  Redemption  motive,  it 
has  not  been  developed  in  the  drama.  Its  full  significance  is 
to  become  apparent  to  the  townspeople  of  Pallas  (1045), 
learning  wisdom  at  last  (1000),  and  is  dramatically  represented 
by  the  thrilling  change  in  the  attitude  of  the  Chorus  from 


DRAMAS   OF   CRIME   AND   ATONEMENT  43 

Eumenides,  810-817,  to  916-917,  921-926.  There  is  a  con- 
vincing power  in  the  way  Aeschylus  presents  this  idea  which 
we  are  not  surprised  to  find  absent  from  Wagner's  enuncia- 
tion of  the  Redemption  motive.  Knowing  the  Athens  of  the 
fifth  century,  Aeschylus  could  make  Athene  say  (853-854), 
"The  rising  tide  of  time  will  ever  bring  more  honor  to  this 
people,"  and  could  confidently  prophesy  rvxas  ovi^o-t/xovs  for 
the  city;  while  Wagner  could  only  suggest  as  a  lovely,  but 
remote  ideal,  the  picture  of  a  world  delivered  from  selfishness. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    CONCLUSION    OF   THE   MEISTERSINGER   AND   THE 

CONCLUSION   OF   THE   EUMENIDES:    TWO 

REMARKABLE  RECONCILIATIONS 

The  reconciliation  with  which  the  Meistersinger  concludes 
is  even  more  like  that  of  the  Erinyes,  though  the  issues  in- 
volved are  as  far  apart  as  ancient  Athens  and  mediaeval  Nu- 
remberg. The  maintenance  of  justice  in  human  affairs  and 
the  maintenance  of  the  art  of  song  as  an  important  element  in 
human  culture  are  aims  widely  different.  Each,  however, 
may  be  accepted  by  individuals  or  societies  that  hold  con- 
tradictory views  as  to  the  means  that  should  be  used  to  attain 
it.  Both  the  Eumenides  and  the  Meistersinger  portray  the 
struggle  between  two  such  opposing  parties,  and  end  with 
their  reconciliation.  The  representatives  of  the  older  and 
the  younger  generations  come  into  conflict  —  the  ypatai 
Sat/i,ov€s  with  the  dcol  vewrepoL,  and  the  mastersingers 
with  Walter  and  his  champion,  Sachs.  In  each  case,  the 
former  beUeve  that  their  yielding  would  mean  the  loss  to 
the  world  of  all  they  have  striven  to  maintain,  and  the  latter 
look  on  their  opponents  with  mingled  scorn  and  fear,  con- 
fident that  the  freedom  they  themselves  demand  is  right. 
The  ypalai  Sat'/xoves  and  the  mastersingers  try  to  uphold 
what  is  best,  as  they  understand  it,  by  compelling  respect  for 
a  generally  accepted  principle.  In  the  one  case,  it  is  a  prin- 
ciple of  right  conduct,  which  the  Erinyes  defend  by  punishing 
all  who  violate  it;  and  in  the  other,  a  principle  of  song  com- 
position, which  the  masters  defend  by  excluding  from  their 

guild   all   who   break  its   rules.     Trouble   results   from   their 

44 


CONCLUSION   OF   THE    MEISTERSINGER   AND    EUMENIDES         45 

inability  to  provide  for  the  exceptional  case.  They  fail  to 
see  that  in  certain  extraordinary  circumstances  good  laws 
may  be  overridden  and  yet  no  harm  done.  Such  transgres- 
sions can  be  justified,  but  only,  as  a  rule,  by  something  not 
entirely  under  human  control.  The  justification  of  Orestes 
comes  from  Apollo's  oracle,  and  of  Walter,  from  his  own  poetic 
inspiration.  It  is  always  an  easy  thing  to  win  sympathy  for 
an  innocent  and  abused  transgressor,  and  to  arouse  antipathy 
for  his  wilfuUy  blind  persecutors,  and  in  most  cases  this  is  all 
that  is  attempted.  But  Wagner  has  followed  Aeschylus  in 
compelling  us  not  to  forget  the  usual  in  our  consideration  of 
the  exceptional.  Nothing  is  more  natural  —  or  more  dan- 
gerous—  than  for  the  average  person  to  feel  that  he  is 
exceptional  and  entitled  to  receive  such  extraordinary  consid- 
eration as  he  has  seen  accorded  to  some  other  case.  It  is 
this  danger  that  is  alluded  to  in  Eumenides,  494-495,  "This 
act  will  henceforth  make  all  men  ready  to  be  reckless;"  and 
in  Meister singer,  Act  I,  "Sachs  opens  a  way  for  bunglers, 
so  that  they  may  easily  push  in  and  out  as  they  choose." 
It  is  averted  in  the  conclusion  of  each.  While  justice  de- 
mands freedom  for  Orestes  and  honor  for  Walter's  talent,  it 
also  insists  on  recognition  of  the  benefits  still  to  be  gained 
by  respecting  the  laws  that  they  broke.  If  Wagner  had  made 
the  Meistersinger  end  with  the  crowning  of  Walter,  as  he  might 
easily  have  done,  and  if  Aeschylus  had  concluded  the  Eu- 
menides with  a  few  anapaests  appended  to  v.  777,  we  should 
come  away  from  both  with  a  view  decidedly  limited  com- 
pared with  that  which  is  given  us  in  the  truly  magnificent 
endings  as  they  now  stand.  The  plot  of  the  Meistersinger 
really  ends  with  Walter's  crowning,  but  by  extending  the 
finale  Wagner  has  made  the  drama  conclude  not  merely  with 
the  artistic  victory  of  a  Franconian  knight  over  some  Nurem- 
berg burghers,  but  with  a  glorifying  of  song  as  the  expression 
of  what  is  best  in  the  hfe  and  character  of  a  people,  and  in  a 


46  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

declaration  of  the  essential  union  of  all  who  serve  it,  whether 
by  their  creative  genius,  like  Walter,  or  by  their  conservative 
efforts,  hke  the  masters. 

It  is  no  small  achievement  to  succeed,  in  the  very  end  of  a 
drama,  in  changing  the  listener's  attitude  from  antagonism 
to  admiration,  without  introducing  something  to  prove  the 
former  attitude  founded  upon  a  misconception.  Wagner, 
following  Aeschylus,  brings  this  about  by  enlarging  our  view 
of  the  subject  as  a  whole. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AJAX   AND   AMFORTAS:     THE    FALLEN   HEROES 

In  Wagner's  Parsifal  and  the  Ajax  of  Sophocles  we  see 
the  effect  on  a  noble  character  of  the  consciousness  that  he 
has  shown  himself  lacking  in  the  one  quality  in  which  he  had 
been  acknowledged  supreme.  Ajax,  preeminent  among  the 
Greek  chieftains  for  physical  strength,  at  the  very  moment 
when  he  expected  to  prove  it  overwhelming  has  been  diverted 
from  his  goal  by  madness,  and  disgraced  himself  by  slaughter- 
ing flocks  instead  of  the  kings  against  whom  he  set  out.  In 
Parsifal  Amfortas  suffers  a  like  humiliation.  King  of  the 
knights  who  serve  the  Holy  Grail,  he  had  believed  his  moral 
strength  invincible,  and,  relying  on  that,  had  gone  forth  to 
conquer  Klingsor.  But  instead,  he  himself  became  the  victim 
of  a  mad  infatuation,  so  incurring  disgrace  whose  stain  cannot 
be  removed,  and  whose  outward  sign  is  the  wound  that  never 
heals.  Neither  hero  is  seen  until  after  the  act,  and  both  have 
fallen  through  relying  too  exclusively  on  their  own  efforts. 
Amfortas  was  allzukuhn,  and  Ajax  was  oi  /car*  avOpojirov  <f>povS)v 
(777). 

In  Wagner's  adaptation  of  the  legend,  the  Grail  is  the  sjTiibol 
of  the  love  that  yearns  to  deliver  humanity  from  the  burden 
of  sorrow  and  pain.  The  Grail  was  intrusted  by  heavenly 
messengers  to  Titurel,  who  built  a  temple  for  it  in  the  moun- 
tains, where  he  was  joined  by  all  who  were  ready  to  devote 
their  lives  to  service.  In  his  old  age  Titurel  surrendered  the 
throne  to  his  son,  Amfortas.  Meanwhile,  Klingsor,  unable 
to  conquer  sin  in  himself  and  thereby  win  admittance  to  the 
sanctuary,  resolved  to  drag  back  to  his  own  level  all  who  had 

47 


48  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

risen  higher.  He  transformed  the  wilderness  at  the  foot  of 
the  Grail  mountain  into  a  garden,  and  filled  it  with  beings 
of  alluring  lovehness,  at  once  flowers  and  maidens.  Enticed 
by  them,  and  by  the  captive  Kundry,  more  than  one  of  the 
Grail  knights  has  been  enslaved.  Amfortas,  eager  to  put  an 
end  to  this,  set  forth,  before  the  opening  of  the  drama,  for 
Klingsor's  castle,  carrying  the  sacred  lance  to  dispel  the  magic. 
Then  Kundry  met  him,  and,  dazed  by  her  beauty,  Amfortas 
forgot  his  mission,  the  lance  slipped  from  his  hand.  Klingsor 
snatched  it  up,  drove  it  into  the  side  of  its  faithless  guardian, 
and  bore  it  away.  Amfortas  returned  to  the  temple,  to  see 
daily  the  empty  place  where  the  lance  was  wont  to  lie  beside 
the  Grail  and  to  reahze  that  he,  king  of  the  knights,  was  the 
only  guilty  one  among  them. 

Before  we  reach  the  tenth  line  of  Parsifal,  we  learn  that  the 
king  is  ailing.  Gurnemanz  says,  ''It  is  time  to  await 
the  king.  I  see  the  messengers  approaching,  who  precede  the 
litter  on  which  his  tortured  frame  is  carried."  Equally  early 
in  the  Ajax  we  read  (9-10) :  "Within  his  tent  the  hero  is  now, 
as  it  happens,  with  head  dripping  with  sweat,  and  hands 
that  have  slain  with  the  sword." 

After  we  have  heard  that  Amfortas  suffers  constantly,  he 
is  brought  before  us.  He  remains,  for  a  brief  scene,  resting 
on  a  litter,  and  is  carried  away,  not  to  appear  again  until 
Gurnemanz  has  given  a  complete  account  of  the  adventure 
in  which  the  wound  was  received.  The  general  plan  of  con- 
struction is  the  same  as  that  adopted  by  Sophocles;  for  when 
Ajax's  frenzy  has  been  described  by  Athene,  he  enters  bearing 
the  ixdarii,  a  visible  evidence  of  his  madness,  as  the  litter 
is  of  the  weakness  of  Amfortas.  After  a  short  scene  (91-117), 
he  withdraws,  reappearing  when  the  course  of  his  madness 
has  been  fully  detailed  in  the  scene  between  Tecmessa  and 
the  Chorus  (201-332).  She  is  questioned  as  one  whose 
relation  to  Ajax  would  make  her  a  rehable  informant  (208-213), 


AJAX  AND  AMFORTAS:  THE  FALLEN  HEROES        49 

and  similarly  Gurnemanz  is  led  by  the  Grail  squires  to  tell 
how  their  king  came  to  be  wounded.  Like  Tecmessa,  though 
earlier  in  the  drama,  Gurnemanz  laments  the  contrast  between 
the  former  state  of  Amfortas  and  his  present  wretchedness. 
It  is  just  before  Amfortas's  entrance  that  he  says:  "He  draws 
near;  they  are  bearing  him.  —  Alas!  How  can  my  heart 
endure  the  sight  of  him,  in  the  proud  height  of  his  manhood, 
the  leader  of  the  most  victorious  host,  now  become  the  slave 
of  sickness?"  words  akin  in  sentiment  to  (203  ff.):  "We  have 
cause  for  our  groans,  we  who  grieve  for  the  house  of  Telamon 
far  away.  For  now  Ajax,  the  dread,  the  mighty,  the  savage, 
in  a  turbid  storm  of  madness  lies  sick." 

Like  Ajax,  Amfortas  longs  for  death.  To  him  it  is  the 
"only  blessing,"  as  the  aK6To<;  of  the  nether  world  is  <^aos  to 
Ajax  (394).  There  is  an  equal  intensity  of  emotion  (though 
no  verbal  resemblance)  in  the  lines  that  follow  (Act  III,  Sc. 
II) :  "Let  the  terrible  wound,  let  its  poison  die!  Let  the  heart 
that  it  gnaws  grow  rigid,"  and  (395  ff.):  "O  darkness  of 
death,  full  of  light  as  thou  art  to  me,  take  me,  take  me  to 
dwell  in  thee,  O  take  me!" 

In  each  case  the  contrast  between  the  son's  ruin  and  the 
father's  success  is  indicated.  Amfortas  laments  (Act  III): 
"Ay,  woe!  woe!  woe  is  me!  I  raise  this  cry  gladly  with  you. 
More  gladly  still  would  I  receive  death  from  your  hands, 
for  my  sin  the  mildest  atonement.  {Turning  to  the  dead  Titurel) 
My  father,  highly  blest  of  heroes,  the  purest,  to  whom  once 
angels  descended!"  And  Ajax  cries  out  (430-436):  "Aiai! 
(woe!)  who  would  ever  have  thought  that  my  name,  Aias,  and 
my  woes  would  thus  accord?  Now  it  is  fitting  that  even  twice 
I  should  wail  aiai,  and  thrice,  to  such  misfortune  have  I  come, 
whose  father  from  this  same  land  of  Ida,  gaining  the  foremost 
prizes  by  valor,  went  home  with  all  the  glory  of  high  fame." 
The  failure  of  both  sons  has  resulted  from  overconfidence  in 
their  own  strength.     Ajax  believed  he  could  do  without  the 


50  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

help  of  the  gods  (768-775),  and  Amfortas  set  forth  against 
Khngsor  without  receiving  the  Grail's  permission.  Both  lack 
the  perfect  balance  of  <Tw<f>po(Tvvrj.  Amfortas  also  falls  short 
of  the  Wagnerian  standard  in  self-sacrificing  love.  For 
when  he  met  Kundry  in  Klingsor's  garden,  he  forgot  the  knights 
for  whose  sake  he  had  come.  This  fact  is  dramatically  em- 
phasized by  the  contrasting  character  and  experience  of  Parsifal. 
He  strays  into  Klingsor's  garden  without  any  purpose  what- 
ever. He  meets  the  same  temptation,  but  resists  it,  forget- 
ting himself  that  he  may  accomplish  the  dehverance  of 
Amfortas.  In  the  Ajax,  Sophocles  also  introduces  a  character 
distinguished  by  the  quality  in  which  Ajax  is  deficient  —  Odys- 
seus, Tov  ev  <f>povovvTa  (1252).  In  the  end,  however,  it  is 
only  the  deeds  and  the  courage  of  Ajax  that  are  considered. 
His  madness  and  his  hatred  are  passed  over,  when  Odysseus 
defends  his  right  to  burial  (1332  ff.).  His  heroism  is  funda- 
mental, the  cause  of  his  ruin  relatively  superficial.  Teucer 
calls  him  rut  iravr  ayadia,  "entirely  noble"  (1415).  So, 
also,  the  sin  of  Amfortas  is  forgiven,  as  the  drama  concludes. 
His  intense  and  prolonged  repentance  has  proved  his  purity 
fundamental,  and  his  wound  is  healed  by  the  touch  of  the 
sacred  lance,  brought  back  to  the  Grail  by  Parsifal,  who  pro- 
nounces  its   former   king  entsundigt   und  gesuhnt. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ISOLDE    AND    PHAEDRA:    RELUCTANT    CONFESSIONS   OF    LOVE 

The  scene  between  Isolde  and  her  handmaiden  in  the  be- 
ginning of  Tristan  and  Isolde  is  a  close  parallel  to  the  scene 
between  Phaedra  and  the  Nurse.  At  the  first  glance,  how- 
ever, there  appears  to  be  little  relation  between  Isolde,  whose 
love  is  beautiful,  in  Wagner's  version,  and  Phaedra,  whose 
passion  is  recognized,  even  by  herself,  as  sinful.  But  if  we 
look  for  the  parallel,  not  between  love  and  €/3tos,  but  between 
love  and  o-w^/joo-vV?;  (the  ideals  upheld  respectively  in  the 
Ring  and  the  Oresteia) ,  we  find  that  the  Hippolytus,  as  a  whole, 
defends  a-wcfypoa-vvyj,  though  in  a  negative  manner,  by  showing 
the  tragedy  that  results  from  disregarding  it.  'V/Spis,  causing 
the  death  of  Hippolytus,  proves  itself  wrong.  Similarly, 
unquestioning  obedience  to  convention,  causing  the  death 
of  Tristan  and  Isolde,  is  represented  as  mistaken.  Were  it 
not  for  convention,  Tristan  and  Isolde  would  have  told  King 
Mark  of  their  love,  and  the  conclusion  of  the  drama  shows 
how  gladly  he  would  have  made  them  happy. 

For  convenience  in  tracing  the  course  of  the  scene  between 
Isolde  and  Brangane,  as  it  runs  parallel  to  that  between  Phaedra 
and  the  Nurse,  we  may  divide  both  into  six  corresponding 
sections. 

I.  The  distraught  and  weak  condition  of  the  heroine  is 
made  known. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  Isolde  is  "on  a  couch,  with  her  face 
hidden  in  the  pillows."     She  lies  motionless  for  several  minutes. 

That  Phaedra  is  first  shown  in  a  like  position  is  indicated  by 
the  Nurse's  words  (179-180),  ''Out  of  doors  now  is  your  bed," 

51 


52  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

and  Phaedra's  first  line,  198,  "Raise  my  body,  lift  my  head." 
We  were  prepared  for  this  by  the  preceding  chorus  (130-134). 
That  Isolde's  quiet  is  the  repression  of  emotion  so  violent 
as  to  have  made  her  partly  unconscious  of  her  surroundings 
we  see  when,  roused  at  last  by  a  sailor's  song,  she  asks  Brangane 
where  they  are.  The  handmaiden  answers,  "With  a  quiet  sea, 
before  evening  we  shall  surely  reach  land."  And  Isolde  asks, 
"What  land?"  though  she  knows  as  well  as  Brangane  that 
they  are  saihng  to  Cornwall.  It  matters  little  whether  she 
asks  because  she  is  momentarily  dazed,  or  because  her  anger 
at  the  thought  of  arrival  makes  her  lead  Brangane  to  pron- 
ounce the  hated  name  of  Cornwall  (so  Phaedra  leads  the 
Nurse  to  pronounce  the  name  of  Hippolytus,  v.  352),  in  order 
that  she  may  contradict,  "Never!  not  today,  nor  tomorrow!" 
In  either  case,  she  is  out  of  tune  with  her  environment,  as 
Phaedra  is  shown  to  be  by  the  Nurse's  complaint  (183-185). 

II.  Seizure  by  a  mad  desire,  incomprehensible  to  the 
attendant,  but  plain  to  an  audience  familiar  with  the  legend. 

Isolde  invokes  wind  and  storm  to  destroy  the  ship.  The 
wildness  of  her  outburst,  as  of  Phaedra's,  is  intensified  by  con- 
trast with  her  preceding  lassitude.  Isolde's  frantic  desire 
to  destroy  her  love  and  its  object  runs  parallel  to  Phaedra's 
longing  to  defy  a-oi(f)po(rvvr)  and  hunt  in  the  forest  with 
Hippolytus. 

III.  Reaction. 

Isolde  collapses  and  falls  on  the  couch,  again  hiding  her 
face,  her  feeling  doubtless  like  that  of  Phaedra,  when  the 
latter  says  (239  and  243-244),  "Wretched  that  I  am,  what 
have  I  done?  Nurse,  cover  my  head  again,  for  I  am  ashamed 
of  the  words  I  have  spoken." 

IV.  The  attendant  expresses  sympathy  and  begs  for  an 
explanation. 

In  Brangane's  plea,  the  recent  behavior  of  her  mistress  is 
described.     She  says  in  part:    "Isolde!  Mistress!  Dear  heart, 


ISOLDE  AND  PHAEDRA!  RELUCTANT  CONFESSIONS  OF  LOVE   53 

what  hast  thou  hid  from  me  so  long?  Not  one  tear  did'st 
thou  shed  for  father  and  mother;  hardly  a  parting  word  did'st 
thou  have  for  them  who  remained;  from  home  departing  cold 
and  mute,  pale  and  silent  on  the  voyage,  without  food,  without 
sleep,  wildly  distraught,  staring  and  wretched."  The  cor- 
responding passage  in  the  Hippolytus,  while  telling  us  nothing 
new,  emphasizes  by  repetition  the  earlier  description  of 
Phaedra's  state.     With  the  above  we  may  compare  273ff. : 

Nurse:    About  all  this  she  is  silent. 
Chorus:  How  weak  she  is,  and  how  wasted  her  form. 
Nurse:  Could  it  be  otherwise,  when  for  three  days  she  has 
had  no  food?" 

V.  Revelation  of  the  object  of  her  love. 

Isolde  demands  air,  and  Brangane  pulls  aside  the  hangings 
that  screen  their  part  of  the  deck,  so  that  the  rest  becomes 
visible.  Among  the  soldiers  the  figure  of  Tristan  is  con- 
spicuous. 

The  Nurse,  to  be  sure,  only  names  Hippolytus;  but  as  he, 
unlike  Tristan,  has  already  appeared,  the  mere  mention  of 
his  name  would  call  up  in  the  spectator's  mind  a  picture  almost 
as  vivid  as  the  actual  one  presented  by  Wagner. 

VI.  The  mistress  reveals  her  feelings,  at  first  in  words  too 
vague  for  the  attendant  to  understand. 

Isolde  reviews  the  events  that  have  brought  her  to  her  present 
state  of  despair.  The  purpose  this  narrative  serves  is  similar 
to  that  of  Phaedra's  long  speech  (372-430).  Like  it,  also,  this 
begins  cahnly,  following  an  excited  passage  that  included  a 
short  chorus.  Isolde  commences,  "Thou  hast  beheld  my 
shame,  now  learn  what  brought  it  on  me,"  an  introductory 
remark  resembling  (390),  "I  will  tell  thee  the  course  of  my 
thought."  Brangane,  however,  remains  in  the  dark  as  to  Isolde's 
purpose,  while  the  Nurse  has  already  come  to  understand  her 
mistress.    In  Isolde's  anger  Brangane  sees  only  failure  to  appre- 


54  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

ciate  the  dignity  to  become  hers  with  the  Cornish  crown, 
and  when  Isolde  murmurs,  "Unloved,  seeing  the  noblest  man 
ever  near  me,  —  how  could  I  bear  that  torture?"  the  hand- 
maiden believes  her  mistress  is  thinking  of  Mark.  Her 
reply  reminds  us  of  the  lines  of  the  Nurse,  following  the 
mention  of  Hippolytus  and  preceding  Phaedra's  acknowl- 
edgement (313  ff.)  And,  indeed,  two  verses  in  this  passage 
might  almost  be  transferred  from  Phaedra's  lips  to  Isolde's 
(319  and  331):  "A  friend  has  made  me  suffer,  against  my  will, 
against  his.  .  .  .  From  shame  let  me  contrive  an  honorable 
escape."  When  Brangane  realizes  that  Isolde  is  resolved  on 
death,  she  feels,  like  the  Nurse,  that  she  must  save  her  mistress 
at  any  cost.  Her  act,  also,  makes  greater  trouble,  wrong  is 
done  to  an  innocent  man  (to  Mark  as  to  Hippolytus),  and 
death  follows  after  all.  Brangane  realizes  her  mistake  im- 
mediately, and  as  the  Chorus  criticizes  the  Nurse  (596):  "With 
kind  intent,  but  not  with  honor,  thou  hast  found  a  remedy," 
so  she  blames  herself,  saying  at  the  close  of  Act  I:  "Unavoid- 
able, lasting  danger,  instead  of  sudden  death!  Foolish  fidel- 
ity's work,  fraught  with  deceit,  now  comes  to  flower  in  woe!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Wagner's  music  and  the  parodos  of  the 
seven  against  thebes 

In  Wagner's  Gesammelte  Schriften  IV,  190  we  read:  "The 
necessarily  emotional  interpretation  of  the  drama,  given  in 
Greek  tragedy  by  the  Chorus,  is  supplied  and  developed  by 
the  modern  orchestra,  free  from  all  limitations,  with  infinite 
variety  of  expression;  the  persons  who  compose  the  Chorus 
are  accordingly  removed  from  the  orchestra  to  the  stage,  in 
order  to  bring  the  germ  of  individuality  which  was  in  the 
Greek  Chorus  to  its  highest  independent  growth  as  an  acting 
and  suffering  character  in  the  drama,"  and  in  IX,  p.  309:  "If 
ancient  tragedy  was  obliged  to  curtail  its  dialogue  because 
it  had  to  be  inserted  between  choral  odes  and  kept  separate 
from  them,  in  the  modern  orchestra  this  interpreting  element 
of  music,  still  continuing  to  give  the  drama  a  higher  signifi- 
cance, always  accompanies  the  action." 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  Wagner  felt  that  the  orchestra  in 
his  dramas  had  assumed  and  extended  the  interpretative 
functions  of  the  Greek  Chorus,  and  a  comparison  of  parts 
of  his  scores  with  certain  passages  in  the  choral  odes  tends 
to  justify  his  belief.  The  difficulties  and  incongruities  in 
such  a  comparison  are  obvious.  The  aspect  of  a  situation, 
or  the  phase  of  an  emotion,  that  music  can  best  make  us  reaUze, 
is,  on  that  account,  beyond  the  reach  of  words,  and  the  aspect 
or  phase  that  words  can  put  before  us  most  clearly  cannot 
possibly  be  defined  in  music.  In  Wagner's  scores,  however, 
music  comes  very  near  to  being  poetry,  as  the  words  of  the 
Greek  lyrics  come    very    near    to    being  music.     Of    course, 

55 


56  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

Wagner's  orchestra  plays  a  more  important  part  than  any 
Chorus,  even  those  of  Aeschylus.  It  speaks  continuously; 
not  merely  during  the  interludes  and  in  pauses  between  speeches, 
but  all  through  the  speeches  as  well.  Allowing,  however, 
for  the  essential  differences  between  Greek  expression  in  words, 
colored  by  music  (of  which  we  are  unfortunately  ignorant), 
and  Wagnerian  expression  in  music  rooted  in  words,  we  find 
many  instances  in  which  Wagner's  orchestra  produces  effects 
such  as  the  Chorus  produced  in  Greek  tragedy. 

It  would  be  possible  for  a  Greek  student  with  no  musical 
knowledge  to  gain  an  accurate  idea  of  what  Wagner's  orches- 
tra adds  to  his  text,  by  considering  what  the  Parodos  of  the 
Seven  against  Thebes  adds  to  the  dialogue  it  follows.  This 
Parodos  is  a  lyric  development  of  two  motifs  —  the  attack 
on  Thebes  and  the  prayer  for  deliverance.  Though  of  the 
utmost  importance  in  the  drama,  the  attack  cannot  be  repre- 
sented. Its  progress  can  only  be  described  and  its  violence 
suggested.  It  is  pictured  by  the  Messenger  (59-64):  "At 
hand  now,  in  full  armor,  the  Argive  host  comes  in  clouds  of 
dust,  and  white  foam  splashes  from  the  horses'  mouths  on 
the  plain.  Do  thou,  as  a  ship's  worthy  helmsman,  secure 
the  city  before  it  is  swept  by  the  blasts  of  Ares.  For  it  roars, 
that  billowy  host,  over  the  dry  land."  The  first  lines  of  the 
Chorus  impress  the  picture  more  clearly  on  our  mental  vision 
by  going  over  its  outlines.  They  do  not  draw  a  new  picture, 
or  even  make  important  additions  to  the  one  already  drawn, 
but  they  emphasize  the  ideas  previously  suggested  by  repeat- 
ing them  in  different  words  and  freer  rhythm  (79-85):  "It 
is  let  loose,  the  host.  Forth  from  the  camp  it  flows,  this  great 
crowd  that  runs  before  the  horsemen.  High  in  air,  the  dust 
tells  me  this,  voiceless,  yet  distinct,  a  truthful  messenger. 
And  still  through  my  ears  tears  the  sound  of  my  country's 
plains  beaten  by  horses'  hoofs.  It  flies,  it  roars,  like  undammed 
torrents  dashing  down  the  mountains." 


MUSIC    AND   THE    PARODOS  57 

The  Messenger's  announcement  is  followed  immediately 
by  the  prayer  of  Eteocles  (69-77).  It  voices  the  emotion 
roused  in  king  and  people  of  Thebes  by  the  news.  This  emo- 
tion provides  the  second  motif  of  the  choral  ode,  which  is  devel- 
oped at  greater  length  than  the  motif  of  the  attack.  It  first 
appears  in  86-87,  but  does  not  at  once  force  the  other  motif 
into  the  background,  for  the  latter  reappears  in  88-90.  This 
is  the  beginning  of  a  passage  (86-107)  in  which  the  first  motif, 
developed  in  a  description  of  sights  and  sounds  incident  to 
the  attack,  alternates  with  the  second  motif,  developed  in  cries 
for  dehverance  from  the  dangers  so  heralded.  This  alterna- 
tion emphasizes  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  which  exists 
between  the  two  motifs  and  creates  an  impression  of  con- 
fusion appropriate  to  the  situation.  The  questions  also  con- 
tribute toward  this.  With  the  appeal  to  the  gods  that  guard 
the  city  in  v.  109,  the  confusion  subsides  a  little,  and  the  most 
exphcit  description  of  the  attack  in  the  ode  follows  (120-126): 
''The  Argives  are  about  the  city  of  Cadmus  in  a  circle.  There 
is  the  terror  of  war's  arms.  Bound  fast  in  the  horses'  mouths 
the  bits  ring  death.  Seven  bold  heroes,  chieftains  of  the 
host,  brandishing  spears,  fully  equipt,  at  the  seven  gates 
are  standing,  each  where  his  lot  assigned."  The  last  three 
lines  are  not,  like  the  rest  of  the  description  in  the  ode,  an 
expansion  of  the  ideas  in  59-64,  but  of  55-56,  "I  left  them 
drawing  lots,  that,  as  thus  assigned,  each  to  one  gate  would 
lead  his  band."  This  is  followed  by  a  passage  of  unin- 
terrupted supphcation  (127-150),  then  by  a  strophe  and  an- 
tistrophe  in  which  greater  terror  is  again  indicated  by  an 
alternate  use  of  the  two  motifs.  The  ode  concludes  with 
a  prayer  (166-180),  in  which  the  references  to  the  native 
dialect  (169-170),  "The  city  toihng  with  the  spear,  betray 
not  to  an  army  speaking  another  tongue,"  and  to  the  sacri- 
fices to  the  gods  (177-180),  "Have  a  care  for  the  offerings 
made    by    the    people,    and   caring,    defend   them.     Of   glad 


58  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

sacrifices  made  in  the  city's  mysteries  be  mindful,  I  implore," 
recall  parts  of  the  prayer  of  Eteocles  (71-73  and  76-77) :  "Tear 
not  my  city  up  by  the  roots  and  give  it  not  to  utter  destruction, 
captured  by  the  spears  of  the  foe,  the  city  that  pours  out  the 
speech  of  Hellas  .  .  .  but  be  our  strength;  of  benefit  to  both, 
I  believe,  are  my  words,  for  a  city  that  thrives  honors  the 
gods." 

The  ode,  then,  gives  us  no  information.  When  it  is  ended 
we  know  no  more  about  the  state  of  affairs,  but  we  realize  far 
more  keenly  what  such  a  state  means,  —  the  confusion  it 
involves,  the  terror  it  awakens,  the  disasters  it  portends.  It 
is  just  this  kind  of  intense  realization  of  the  dramatic  situation 
that  Wagner  produces  by  his  use  of  the  orchestra.  Sometimes 
he  creates  it  by  suggesting  actual  sights  and  sounds,  such  as 
Aeschylus  suggests  in  the  lines  describing  the  enemy's  ap- 
proach. The  tapping  of  the  Nibelungs'  hammers,  the  thud 
of  the  giants'  footsteps,  the  gallop  of  the  Valkyrs'  horses, 
and  the  flicker  of  the  flames  around  Briinnhilde's  rock,  are 
a  few  such  instances.  More  frequently,  however,  Wagner 
uses  the  orchestra  to  express  emotion,  as  Aeschylus  uses 
the  Chorus  in  the  supplicatory  passages  of  the  ode.  How 
plaintively  and  how  urgently  it  can  entreat  we  learn  when 
Briinnhilde  pleads  with  the  god  who  has  just  decreed  her 
banishment  from  the  life  of  Valkyrs  to  such  disgrace  as  the 
world  may  inflict  on  her  helplessness  (Walkure,  Act  III). 

Although  sights  and  sounds  represented  orchestrally  are 
generally  put  before  us  on  the  stage  at  the  same  time,  there 
are  some  passages  in  Wagner's  scores  that  describe,  as  parts 
of  this  Parodos  do,  something  off  the  stage.  In  the  first  act 
of  Parsifal,  words  define  the  incidents  of  Kundry's  arrival, 
much  as  the  Messenger's  speech  defines  the  incidents  of  the 
army's  advance  in  the  Seven  against  Thebes,  but  it  is  the  or- 
chestra that  makes  us  realize  the  terrifying  speed  with  which 
horse  and  rider  sweep  forward,  now  skimming  through  the 


MUSIC    AND    THE    PARODOS  59 

air,  now  galloping  madly  over  the  earth,  until  the  music  rises 
to  an  overwhelming  climax,  and  Kundry  runs  in. 

On  almost  every  page  in  Wagner's  scores  the  orchestra 
gives  expression  to  emotions  that  the  words  barely  suggest. 
As  an  illustration,  however,  of  the  way  Wagner  adds  orches- 
tral music  to  words  and  vocal  melody  to  produce  an  effect 
similar  to  that  achieved  in  the  Seven  against  Thebes  by  supple- 
menting the  prayer  of  Eteocles  with  those  of  the  Chorus,  a 
passage  in  the  first  act  of  Tristan  and  Isolde  will  perhaps  serve 
as  well  as  any.  Brangane,  looking  at  the  blue  strip  of  land 
on  the  horizon,  has  just  said  that  by  evening  they  will  be 
sailing  into  the  harbor  of  Cornwall,  when  Isolde  cries  out, 
"Never!"  Excited  as  the  following  words  are,  their  despera- 
tion is  magnified  many  times  in  the  whirlwind  of  tone  sweeping 
through  the  orchestra.  While  Aeschylus  expands  the  idea  of 
supphcation  on  a  single  plane,  as  it  were,  by  reiterated  ap- 
peals to  the  gods  already  mentioned  by  Eteocles,  and  by  invo- 
cations to  others,  Wagner  expands  his  presentation  of  Isolde's 
despair  on  different  planes  at  once  by  making  the  vocal  melody 
move  over  a  tempestuous  surge  of  tone.  Isolde's  emotion, 
like  that  of  the  maidens  of  the  Chorus,  is  caused  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  what  she  dreads  is  approaching.  Cornwall  stands 
to  Isolde  for  all  that  is  most  hateful  —  she  fears  it  as  she  would 
fear  a  monster  eager  to  spring  upon  her  when  the  ship  brings 
her  to  its  lair.  Something  like  this  is  suggested  by  the  vio- 
lence with  which  the  Cornwall  motive  leaps  out  of  the  or- 
chestra. It  keeps  before  us  the  object  and  cause  of  the  dread 
that  prompts  Isolde's  outcry,  just  as  in  the  Parodos  a  word 
here  and  there  in  the  invocations  suggests  the  attack  and  its 
possible  consequences,  which  are  the  object  of  the  maidens* 
fear  and  the  cause  of  their  prayers.     Such  phrases  are  6p6(j.€vov 

KaKov     (87),     8ov\oavvas    virtp     (111),     Saiwv    aXwtriv     (119),     ttoXlv 
oopiTTOvov  fi-q   TrpoSwd'   €Tepo<f)(x>v<ii   arpartS    (169—170). 

The    alternate   repetition    of   two   musical   phrases    occurs 


60  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

frequently  in  Wagner,  and  one  instance  in  which  the  rela- 
tion between  them  is  that  of  cause  and  effect,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  two  motifs  in  vv.  86-107,  occurs  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Walkiire.  When  Sieglinde  finds  the  exhausted  Siegmund  and 
brings  hun  water,  the  motive  of  Siegmund' s  Weariness  is  several 
times  repeated,  with  the  motive  of  Sieglinde's  Sympathy  fol- 
lowing each  repetition. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Wagner's  use  of  the  orchestra  as  a  medium  for 
poetic  expression 

I.    Orchestral  Descriptions 

(a)  Long  Passages 

It  would  be  possible,  I  believe,  to  classify  every  part  of 
Wagner's  scores  under  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  headings 
represented  by  the  two  motifs  in  the  Parados  of  the  Septem. 
The  passages  describing  anything  that  could  be  directly  ap- 
prehended by  the  senses  are,  of  course,  few  compared  with 
those  expressing  emotion,  but  they  are  characteristic  and 
successful.  Conspicuous  are  the  orchestral  representations 
of  storms  in  the  Flying  Dutchman,  Rheingold,  and  Walkiire. 
As  a  shrieking  wind  follows  the  tones  of  the  chromatic  scale, 
it  is  one  of  the  very  few  natural  sounds  that  can  actually  be 
reproduced  in  music.  Add  to  this  the  rumble  of  thunder, 
which  can  be  imitated  on  the  drum,  and  one  easily  makes 
in  the  orchestra  the  two  most  characteristic  sounds  that  ac- 
company a  storm.  In  the  Flying  Dutchman  the  orchestra 
suggests  the  mighty  swell  of  the  ocean,  the  sudden  breaking 
of  waves  against  the  ship,  the  wind  moaning  over  the  waters 
and  whistling  through  the  rigging.  This  storm-music  is 
heard  first  in  the  Overture,  where  it  accompanies  the  Dutch- 
man motive  and  alternates  with  passages  that  express  emo- 
tion, as  the  two  motifs  alternate  in  the  Parodos  of  the  Septem. 
Pictures  of  breaking  waves  are  found  also  in  at  least  two  choral 
odes:  in  the  Septem  (758-761),  and  in  the  Antigone  (586-589). 
The  features  of  the  tempest  represented   orchestrally  in  the 

61 


62  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

Flying  Dutchman  are  those  which  are  mentioned  in  Aeschylus' s 
Supplices,  33-36:  "The  hurricane  with  its  stormy  buffeting, 
thunder  and  hghtning,  and  the  rain-bearing  winds  of  the 
furious  ocean." 

The  thunder-shower  in  Rheingold  is  painted  in  magnificent 
orchestral  colors,  but  as  a  similar  picture  is  not  found  in  any 
Greek  chorus,  we  may  turn  to  the  mountain  thunder-storm 
in  the  Vorspiel  to  the  Walkure.  The  main  motive  in  this 
prelude  suggests  the  pelting  of  heavy  raindrops,  driven  against 
the  walls  of  a  house  by  fierce  gusts  of  wind.  This  phrase, 
consisting  of  five  staccato  tones,  preceded  by  a  short,  quick 
run,  produces  almost  the  same  mental  impression  as  the  words 
8vaofi(3pa  ^e\r]  in  the  famous  chorus  of  the  Antigone  (359  ff.) 
on  man's  achievements.  The  storm  at  the  end  of  the  second 
act  of  the  Walkiire  is  different.  No  rainfall  is  indicated,  only 
the  lightning,  piercing  clouds  gathered  in  the  mountain-pass, 
and  the  thunder  that  shakes  rocks.  It  is  not  a  natural  shower, 
but  something  portentous.  The  god  rides  on  the  storm-clouds, 
and  to  men  who  fight  in  their  midst  he  brings  death.  In 
character  and  significance  the  storm  resembles  that  described 
in  the  Oedipus  atColonus  (1462-1471):  "Lo!  the  mighty  crash 
of  falhng  ruins,  monstrous  this  thunder  hurled  by  Zeus.  Fright 
has  crept  even  to  the  ends  of  my  hair.  My  heart  cowers  in 
terror,  from  heaven  the  lightning  blazes  again.  What  will 
be  the  end?  This  is  my  fear,  for  never  does  the  sun  depart 
without  disaster, —  O  mighty  heaven,  0  Zeus!"  In  the 
Waldweben  in  Siegfried  the  orchestra  suggests  the  rustle  of 
leaves,  just  stirred  by  the  breeze,  and  the  hum  of  insects,  —  a 
gentle  murmur  in  which  all  the  sounds  of  the  forest  seem 
blended.  Like  the  Oedipus  at  Colonus,  668-693,  it  paints 
in  the  woodland  background  and  throws  over  the  scene  an 
atmosphere  of  idyllic  beauty.  This  music  does  not  grow  out 
of  the  words,  but  rather  beside  them.  It  begins  when  Sieg- 
fried throws  himself  on  the  ground  under  the  linden,  and  is 


THE    ORCHESTEA  AS  A  MEDIUM  FOR   POETIC  EXPRESSION      63 

heard  almost  constantly  throughout  the  scene  preceding  the 
dragon's  entrance.  And  yet  in  words  the  forest  is  referred  to 
only  twice,  and  then  simply  in  passing:  "Now  as  never  be- 
fore the  green  woods  delight  me.  .  .  .  Thou  lovely  birdhng! 
Never  before  have  I  heard  thee.  Is  thy  home  here  in  the 
grove?"  The  orchestral  passage  preceding  the  latter  quota- 
tion is  the  musical  counterpart  of  Oedipus  at  Colonus  (670- 
678),  "Colonus,  where  the  clear,  low  call  of  the  nightingale 
sounds  constantly  in  green  glens,  Colonus  with  its  dark- 
hng  ivy  and  the  god's  untrodden,  holy  grove,  bearing  count- 
less fruits,  untouched  by  sun  and  wind  and  storm  of  every 
kind,  where  revelling  Dionysus  doth  ever  tread  his  haunt, 
dancing  about  the  goddesses  who  reared  him."  The  first 
strophe  and  antistrophe  of  this  chorus  describe  the  place  that 
is  the  background  of  the  preceding  Epeisodion,  and  in  this 
way  are  related  to  it  as  the  Waldweben  music  to  the  words  it 
accompanies.  And  as  the  forest  is  simply  mentioned,  and  not 
described  in  words,  so  Colonus  and  its  grove  are  referred  to  in 
the  Epeisodion  only  by  such  expressions  as  "here"  and  "this 
land." 

Near  the  beginning  of  the  last  act  of  Tristan  is  a  passage 
that  pictures  the  sea,  stretching  from  the  cliff  to  the  horizon, 
gray  and  desolate,  its  cold  expanse  unbroken  by  the  outline 
of  a  sail.  The  musical  phrase,  taken  out  of  its  context,  could 
suggest  nothing  more  than  extent  and  desolation,  but  as  it 
stands,  its  association  with  the  sea  is  inevitable.  In  the 
Vorspiel  to  Act  III  it  is  employed  in  conjunction  with  two 
other  phrases  to  create  an  impression  of  loneliness  and  suf- 
fering, such  as  is  produced  by  Philodetes,  681-705.  Tristan, 
like  Philoctetes,  is  on  a  lonely  coast,  parted  from  his  desire 
by  the  sea.  Its  impression  on  the  eye  is  suggested  by  the 
phrase  in  Vorspiel  III,  measures  7-10,  as  its  impression  on 
the  ear  is  suggested  by  Philoctetes,  688-689,  "alone  with  the 
sound  of  breakers  dashing  round  about."    Tristan's  anguish, 


64  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

physical  as  well  as  mental,  is  expressed  in  the  opening  phrase 
of  the  V  or  spiel  and  in  measures  30  ff.,  the  musical  equivalent 
of  the  "groan  at  gnawing  pain"  (694)  and  "heart-devouring 
woe"  (705);  while  measures  11-15,  which  follow  directly  the 
phrase  that  pictures  the  sea,  are  equivalent  in  effect  to  690, 
"how  has  he  endured  this  all-tearful  hfe?"  The  wistful 
pathos  of  the  shepherd's  piping,  beginning  in  measure  52, 
is  not  unlike  that  of  703,  "like  a  child  away  from  its  dear 
nurse." 

(b)  Short  Phrases 

While  long  descriptions  are  not  frequent  in  Wagner's  scores, 
short  phrases  used  to  suggest  some  act,  to  sketch  some  motion, 
as  though  with  a  single  line,  are  countless.  Sometimes,  when 
the  act  is  the  manifestation  of  an  inner  state,  or  is  closely  asso- 
ciated with  some  person  or  place,  the  phrase  is  repeated  and 
becomes  a  leading-motive.  Such  is  the  case  with  the  phrase 
that  suggests  the  weariness  of  Tannhauser  (Act  III)  as  he 
plants  his  staff  on  the  ground,  and  leaning  on  it,  drags  his  heavy 
feet  forward.  It  may  remind  one  of  Agamemnon,  79-82. 
The  action  and  feeling  are  similar,  though  the  causes  are 
different.  The  Beating  motive  in  the  Meister singer  repre- 
sents the  hail  of  blows  that  fell  on  Beckmesser  when  his  own 
lute  was  laid  upon  his  shoulders  by  the  angry  David.  A  word- 
picture  of  blows  is  found  in  Choephoroi,  425-427.  Here, 
again,  the  dramatic  situations  are  totally  different,  but  the 
verbal  phrase,  hke  the  musical  one,  helps  to  focus  the  atten- 
tion on  the  rapid  blows  it  accompanies.  The  rhythm  of  both 
is  accelerated  by  a  number  of  short  beats  in  succession.  A 
parallel  to  the  Flames  motive,  used  so  often  in  the  Ring  to 
picture  the  tongues  of  fire  that  dart  up  on  all  sides  of  Briinn- 
hilde's  mountain,  is  found  in  Agamemnon,  92-93,  "here  and 
there,  reaching  to  heaven,  flames  arise."  The  motive  asso- 
ciated with  Hagen  in  the  Gdtterddmmerung  is  distinctly  objec- 


THE    ORCHESTRA    AS    A    MEDIUM    FOR    POETIC    EXPRESSION      65 

tive  in  its  imagery.  It  suggests  the  leap  of  some  malignant 
creature  on  its  prey.  A  similar  picture  is  outlined  in  Oedipus 
Tyrannus,  1300-1302,  "What  evil  spirit  made  a  leap  longer 
than  the  longest  to  bring  thy  evil  doom?" 

The  musical  references  to  the  dragon  in  Siegfried  describe 
nothing  more  than  the  motion  of  a  clumsy  beast,  and  are 
therefore  comic,  even  though  the  monster  is  so  formidable 
that  its  slaughter  is  enough  to  prove  Siegfried  the  greatest  of 
heroes.  Descriptive  music  can  imitate  sound  or  represent 
motion,  but  it  cannot  picture  clearly  either  color  or  form. 
It  can  represent,  in  a  way,  hght  or  darkness,  and  a  phrase 
may  suggest  by  its  own  direction  a  straight  object,  like  a  spear 
or  lance  (as  the  Compact  motive  in  the  Ring,  and  the  Lance 
motive  in  Parsifal),  but  its  possibilities  in  this  line  are  soon 
exhausted.  Where  the  painter  can  do  most,  the  musician 
can  do  least,  but  the  poet  is  less  restricted.  Because  of  the 
nature  of  the  material  in  which  he  works,  he  can  express  more 
than  the  painter  and  describe  more  than  the  musician.  This 
may  well  be  the  reason  why  the  descriptions  of  monsters  found 
in  the  Greek  choruses  do  not  often  portray  their  motion, 
like  the  Dragon  motive,  but  some  feature  of  their  appearance. 
In  Oedipus  Tyrannus,  510,  the  sphinx  is  presented  as  "a  maid 
with  wings"  and  in  1199  as  "with  crooked  talons."  Other 
monsters  are  described  in  Euripides's  Heraclidae,  375-377  and 
397,  and  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  1244-1248.  In  the  Phoemssae, 
however,  motion  of  one  kind  or  another  is  suggested  in  657-661, 
806-810,  and  1018-1025. 

Another  instance  of  a  different  form  of  description  result- 
ing from  the  use  of  a  different  medium  we  find  in  the  case  of 
the  Rhine  music  in  Rheingold.  When  Euripides  shows  us  a 
river,  he  generally  shows  it  in  its  setting,  as  in  Phoenissae, 
645-648:  "Where  the  fair  waters  of  the  stream  overflow  the 
fields,  Dirce's  fields,  bearing  green  grass  and  deeply  sown," 


66  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

and  also  Troades,  226-229,  Phoenissae,  825  ff.,  Hecuba,  451  ff ., 
Bacchae,  406  ff .,  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  1098  ff .  The  Rhine-music, 
on  the  other  hand,  gives  us  no  inkhng  as  to  the  character  of 
the  country  through  which  the  river  flows.  But  it  makes  us 
reahze  the  strong  current,  moving  steadily  below  countless 
undulating  ripples  and  swirling  eddies.  It  makes  us  more 
intensely  aware  than  colors  or  words  could  do,  of  a  force  tireless 
and  inexhaustible,  all  life  and  movement,  ever  changing  yet 
never  entirely  different. 

The  motion  of  one  thing  around  another  which  is  itself 
moving  forward  is  charmingly  represented  in  Euripedes's 
Eledra  (432-437):  "Glorious  ships  which  once  went  to  Troy, 
with  numberless  oars  convoying  the  dancing  Nereids,  where 
the  flute-loving  dolphin  leapt  in  curves  round  the  dark-beaked 
prows."  The  same  interrelation  of  two  motions  is  indicated 
in  the  Ring,  where  the  Flame  motive  dances  around  the  Callj 
which  Siegfried  is  represented  as  blowing  on  his  horn  while 
passing  through  the  fire  on  his  way  up  or  down  Briinnhilde's 
mountain  (*S/.  Ill  and  Gottr.  I.). 


(c)  Part  Played  by  Instruments  on  the  Stage  like  that  Played 
by  Chorus  in  Epeisodia 

Related  to  these  purely  descriptive  passages  are  those  in 
which  the  orchestra  puts  off  its  character  of  interpreter  to 
step  on  the  stage  and  become  an  actor.  These  are  the  cases 
in  which  a  horn,  a  pipe,  or  a  harp  is  represented  as  being  played 
on  the  stage,  or  just  behind  the  scenes,  while  the  actual  sounds 
are  made  by  some  instrument  of  the  orchestra.  There  is  no 
imitation  or  suggestion  here.  We  are  supposed  to  hear  a 
harp  played  by  Tannhauser  or  Wolfram,  a  pipe  played  by  the 
shepherd  in  Tristan  or  in  Tannhauser,  a  lute  played  by  Beck- 
messer,  a  horn  on  which  Siegfried  or  Hagen  is  blowing,  and 
we  do  hear  the  tones  of  a  real  instrument  in  each  case.     When 


THE    ORCHESTRA    AS    A    MEDIUM    FOR    POETIC    EXPRESSION      67 

it  is  not  represented  as  played  by  characters  who  sing  in  the 
drama,  it  is  customary  to  costume  the  members  of  the  or- 
chestra and  send  them  on  with  their  instruments,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  trumpeters  in  Lohengrin  and  Tannhduser.  Gener- 
ally the  instruments  made  actors  in  this  way  add  to  the  stage 
picture,  but  have  no  effect  on  the  progress  of  the  action,  and 
in  this  respect  the  part  they  play  resembles  that  of  many  a 
Greek  Chorus  during  the  Epeisodia.  Like  the  Chorus,  they 
often  call  attention  to  someone  approaching.  In  Tann- 
hduser the  horns  announce  the  entrance  of  the  hunting-party 
(Act  I)  and  of  the  arriving  guests  (Act  II);  in  Tristan  the 
shepherd's  pipe  announces  the  approach  of  the  ship  that 
brings  Isolde  to  Kareol;  and  in  the  Gotterddmmerung  the  horn 
frequently  heralds  the  coming  of  Siegfried.  The  singing  of 
the  knights  in  Tannhduser  implies  the  accompaniment  of  a 
harp,  and  this  the  orchestra  provides,  not  drawing  our  atten- 
tion to  itself  in  any  way,  but  helping  to  produce  the  semblance 
of  reality.  So  the  Chorus,  in  some  Epeisodia,  supplies  the 
listeners  who  are  the  necessary  background  for  dramatic 
speeches  in  scenes  like  Aeschylus,  Choephoroi,  973-1064, 
Sophocles,  Antigone,  1155-1179,  Euripides,  Bacchae,  1024- 
1152. 

II.  Orchestral  Expression  of  Emotion 

By  far  the  greater  part,  however,  of  Wagner's  music  is 
direct  expression  of  emotion.  The  V  or  spiel  to  Lohengrin  is 
often  said  to  portray  the  descent  of  the  Grail;  but  it  does  so 
in  the  indirect  way  in  which  music  by  its  nature  is  compelled 
to  describe  all  but  a  very  few  sights  and  sounds  —  that  is, 
by  expressing,  and  so  re-creating  in  the  hearer,  the  emotion 
they  arouse.  The  description  of  the  Venusherg  in  the  Over- 
ture to  Tannhduser  suggests  the  revels  only  by  expressing  the 
excitement  and  abandon  that  characterize  them.  Where 
the  medium  of  expression  is  verbal,  we  often  follow  the  re- 


68  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

verse  method  of  procedure.  Instead  of  description  suggested 
by  expression  of  emotion,  we  find  emotion  expressed  by  means 
of  description.  In  the  chorus  (vv.  288-368)  of  the  Seven 
against  Thebes,  for  instance,  the  dread  felt  by  the  maidens 
in  the  besieged  city  receives,  through  the  description  of  the 
sack  of  a  town,  expression  more  productive  of  sympathetic 
recoil  on  the  part  of  the  Ustener  than  would  have  been  possible 
through  direct  statements  of  fright.  The  indirection  of  such 
methods  of  presenting  either  emotion  or  description  often 
gives  them  added  force  by  stirring  the  imagination  to  greater 

activity. 

(a)  Long  Passages 

Joyous  excitement  is  expressed  in  the  latter  part  of  Act 
I  of  the  Walkure,  from  the  point  where  Sieglinde  says,  "O 
fand'  ich  ihn  heut'  und  hier,  den  Freund,"  to  the  fall  of  the 
curtain.  The  lovers'  joy  is  to  die  in  the  next  act  with  Sieg- 
mund,  but  the  orchestra  does  not  even  hint  at  the  approach- 
ing catastrophe.  The  second  Stasimon  of  the  Trachinians 
produces  a  similar  effect.  It  does  not  anticipate  in  any  way 
the  tragedy  whose  approach  we  are  to  watch  in  the  next  Epeiso- 
dion.  Instead,  it  follows  the  trend  of  Deianeira's  feelings  in 
what  has  preceded.  Her  happiness,  like  that  of  Siegmund 
and  Sieglinde,  has  come  suddenly  after  a  long  period  of  dis- 
tress. This  is  recalled  in  647-652,  as  Sieglinde's  suffering  is 
recalled  in  the  music  that  goes  with  her  words,  "Fremdes 
nur  sah  ich  von  je,"  etc.  The  sudden  change  of  tone  in  what 
follows  is  equally  striking  in  both  cases.  In  653-654  the 
words  move  with  a  victorious  rush,  like  the  music  that  ac- 
companies "Doch  dich  kannt'  ich,"  etc.  These  passages, 
reminiscent  of  former  sorrow,  are  preceded,  in  both  dramas, 
by  longer  joyful  sections,  in  which  the  happiness  of  the  char- 
acters is  magnified  by  being  represented  as  shared  by  the  sur- 
rounding country  {Track.  633-643,  and  Siegmund's  song  of 
love    and    spring).      Then    follow    passages    that    bring    out 


THE    ORCHESTRA    AS    A    MEDIUM    FOR    POETIC    EXPRESSION      69 

the  connection  of  this  rejoicing  in  the  outside  world  with  that 
of  the  principal  characters  {Track.  644-646,  and  "wohl  musste 
den  tapf'ren  Streichen,"  etc.). 

The  scene  in  the  Walkiire  is  much  longer  than  the  chorus 
in  the  Trachinians,  but  the  conclusion  (from  ''Bist  du  Sieg- 
mund"  to  the  end)  is  restless  and  impetuous  like  the  second 
antistrophe.  Both  urge  haste  —  the  haste  with  which  Sieg- 
mund  and  Sieglinde  would  rush  to  freedom  in  the  forest,  and 
the  haste  with  which  Deianeira  would  have  Heracles  come 
to  her.  The  Sword  motive  is  prominent  in  the  score,  for  the 
lovers  depend  on  the  sword  to  win  their  freedom.  In  the  next 
act,  however,  we  are  to  see  Siegmund  die,  with  the  sword 
broken  in  his  hand.  Deianeira,  also,  is  relying  on  something 
that  will  fail  her,  and  the  last  lines  of  the  chorus  appear,  doubt- 
ful as  the  text  is,  to  refer  to  the  robe  that  is  to  cause  the  death 
of  Heracles. 

Other  joyous  odes  immediately  preceding  a  catastrophe 
are  the  iiropxniuira,  Ai.  693  ff..  Ant.  1115,  and  0.  T.  1086  ff. 
With  the  first  it  would  be  possible  to  compare,  I  think,  the 
ecstatic  music  of  the  scene  between  Briinnhilde  and  Siegfried 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Gdtterddmmerung ,  and  with  the  second, 
the  music  that  accompanies  the  procession  to  the  church  in 
Lohengrin,  Act  II. 

The  orchestral  expression  of  the  lonely  Tristan's  anguish, 
both  physical  and  mental  {Vors.  Ill),  has  already  been  com- 
pared with  the  choral  description  of  the  suffering  of  Philoctetes 
(676ff.).i 

The  music  that  accompanies  Brtinnhilde's  entrance,  when 
she  approaches  Siegmund  to  tell  him  that  his  death-hour  has 
come,  is  not  quite  so  close  a  parallel  to  Heraclidae  (608-629), 
but  it  resembles  this  chorus  in  several  particulars.  Siegmund 
is  to  be  sacrificed  in  order  that  the  dignity  of  the  gods, 
particularly  Fricka,  may  be  maintained ;  Macaria  is  to  be  sac- 

1  Page  6.3. 


70  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

rificed  for  the  welfare  of  the  state.  The  agony  that  the  sacri- 
fice involves  for  Sieglinde  has  been  indicated  just  before  ("  Horch! 
die  Horner  —  Siegmund  —  ha!"),  as  the  grief  of  lolaus  has 
been  suggested  in  602-607,  but  there  is  no  allusion  to  either 
now.  There  is  something  in  the  restrained  tone  of  the  music 
and  in  its  profound  solemnity  that  leads  our  thoughts  from 
the  particular  to  the  general  aspect  of  the  situation.  We 
contemplate  the  approach  of  death,  not  merely,  as  during 
Sieglinde's  outburst,  the  approach  of  Siegmund's  death.  A 
similar  change  in  point  of  view  is  effected  by  HeracUdae,  608- 
617.  The  opening  hexameter,  like  the  Fate  motive,  which 
begins  the  corresponding  passage  in  the  Walkiire,  produces 
by  its  rhythmic  weight,  compared  with  the  more  rapid  move- 
ment preceding,  a  sense  of  calm.  With  the  introduction  of 
the  Walhall  motive  there  is  a  return  to  the  particular  case 
and  the  beginning  of  a  more  heroic  strain.  The  glory  of 
entrance  to  Walhall  will  compensate  Siegmund  in  part  for  the 
loss  of  life.  The  compensation  in  Macaria's  case  is  indicated 
in  the  antistrophe,  618-629,  the  central  idea  of  which  is  ex- 
pressed in  623-624,  "Far  from  inglorious  the  fame  among 
men  that  will  open  its  gates  to  her." 

(b)  Short  Phrases 

The  fright  of  the  Flower-maidens  in  the  beginning  of  Act 
II,  Scene  II,  of  Parsifal  is  represented  by  a  phrase  in  which 
we  find  a  suggestion  of  flutter,  just  as  we  do  in  Prometheus, 

183,  c/xas  §€  (f>peva^  IpiOifTt  ^LaTopo<i  <^o/3os. 

The  misery  of  exile,  which  is  expressed  in  the  moving  phrase 
heard  in  Flying  Dutchman,  Act  I,  before  he  says,  "Weit  komm' 
ich  her,"  has  been  given  verbal  expression  by  Euripides  in 
Medea,  441-443,  "Thou  hast  no  paternal  halls,  unhappy  woman, 
in  which  to  find  a  harbor  from  distress,"  and  655-657,  "On 
thee  not  a  country,  not  a  single  friend,  took  pity,  suffering 
things  most  dire  to  suffer." 


THE    ORCHESTRA    AS    A    MEDIUM    FOR    POETIC    EXPRESSION      71 

The  Slumber  motive,  with  which  Wagner  produces  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  effects  in  the  Ring,  is  as  simple  and  peaceful 
as  Hecuba,  915-916,  ''Sleep  sweetly  on  the  eyes  is  shed," 
and  Philodetes,  827. 

The  impression  produced  by  the  Bondage  motive,  heard 
so  frequently  throughout  the  Ring,  is  much  the  same  as  that 
created  by  the  lines  (Andr.  133-134),  "The  conqueror  is 
upon  thee,  why  struggle,  thou  who  art  nothing?" 

The  chiastic  treatment  of  the  Nature  motive  in  Rheingold, 
Act  IV,  deserves  comment.  It  is  an  ascending  phrase  and  is 
used  in  the  Ring  to  indicate  life  and  growth.  When  Erda 
tells  Wotan  that  the  power  of  the  gods,  which  has  been  grow- 
ing under  his  rule,  is  destined  to  wane,  the  Nature  motive  is 
immediately  followed  by  its  own  inversion,  which  is  thence- 
forth used  as  the  motive  of  the  Fall  of  the  Gods.  The  effect 
of  this  inversion  is  similar  to  that  of  the  chiasmus  in  Choephoroi, 
312-313,  "For  a  blow  blood-reeking,  a  blood-reeking  blow 
be  atonement!"  and,  like  it,  presents  in  the  briefest  way  the 
central  idea  of  the  drama.  The  estabhshment  of  Wotan's 
power  and  its  overthrow  constitute  the  subject-matter  of  the 
Ring;  the  murder  of  Agamemnon  and  the  resulting  murder 
of  Clytemnestra  constitute  the  subject-matter  of  the  Oresteia. 

(c)  Wagner's  Orchestra  and  the  Choral  Odes  of  Three 
Tragedies 
How  far  it  is  reasonable  to  consider  that  Wagner's  orchestra 
has  followed  in  the  steps  of  the  Greek  Chorus  can  be  best 
determined,  perhaps,  by  analyzing  in  one  characteristic  play 
by  each  of  the  three  tragic  poets  the  relation  the  choral  odes 
bear  to  the  plot  and  dialogue,  and  bj^  noting  the  instances 
in  which  Wagner's  music  bears  a  similar  relation  to  plot  and 
text.  From  such  analyses  of  the  Agamemnon,  the  Oedipus 
Tyrannus,  and  the  Hippolytus,  the  following  comparisons 
are  taken. 


72  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

The  second  interlude  in  Gotterddmmerung,  1,  begins  with  the 
Bondage  motive,  and  concludes,  forty  measures  farther  on, 
with  the  same  phrase,  to  which  a  different  introduction  and 
inflection  are  given.  Similarly,  the  third  Stasimon  of  the 
Agamemnon  begins  and  ends  with  differing  expressions  of 
fear,  975-983,  1030-1033.  The  hnes  that  follow  the  opening 
question,  uncertain  as  the  readings  are,  refer  evidently  to 
the  earlier  time  when  the  troubles  whose  results  we  are  about 
to  witness  were  just  beginning.  The  Bondage  motive  is  fol- 
lowed at  once  by  the  Rhinemaidens'  Call  (in  the  minor)  and 
the  Ring  motive,  which  recall  the  opening  of  Rheingold  and 
the  stealing  of  the  gold.  Siegfried's  Call  and  the  Siegfried 
motive  are  next  heard  —  phrases  that  in  the  preceding  dramas 
of  the  cycle  have  always  been  joyous,  but  that  have  lost  this 
character  through  association  with  the  sinister  tones  into 
whose  company  they  have  been  drawn.  Siegfried  is  again 
proving  his  valor,  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  under  an  evil 
influence  and  for  a  wrong  purpose.  Like  Siegfried's  activity, 
Agamemnon's  return,  under  normal  circumstances,  would 
be  cause  for  rejoicing,  but  the  dominating  will  of  Clytemnestra 
has  made  it  arouse  foreboding  instead.  The  effect  of  988-993 
is  not  unlike  that  of  the  Call  and  the  Siegfried  motive.  The 
lines  of  the  ode  on  which  the  greatest  stress  seems  to  be  thrown 
are  1019-1021,  and  the  phrase  on  which  the  orchestra  lays  the 
most  emphasis  is  the  Compact  motive,  in  measures  19-20 
and  27-28.  Both  portend  evil  and  create  a  sense  of  the  im- 
possibility of  escape.  The  blood  Agamemnon  has  shed 
will  cause  his  own  death,  and  the  compact  Siegfried  has  just 
made  with  Gunther  will  bring  destruction  on  his  own  head. 
The  interlude  ends  with  the  Bondage  motive,  enunciated  with 
an  inflection  that  resembles  Agamemnon,  1030-1031.  The 
pianissimo  introductory  phrase  in  measure  39  may  be  com- 
pared to  vvv  S"  viro  a-KOTti),  the  sudden  crescendo  on  one  chord 
to  forte  at  the  beginning  of  measure  41,  to  iSptV^  dvfwXy^^, 


THE    ORCHESTRA    AS    A    MEDIUM    FOR    POETIC    EXPRESSION      73 

and  the  equally  sudden  diminuendo  to  the  next  chord,  taken 
piano  in  the  middle  of  measure  41,  to  the  corresponding  decline 
in  intensity  to  oiSkv  itrfXtrofiiva. 

Throughout  the  Agamemnon  the  choral  odes  bring  to  mind 
earlier  events  in  the  story,  as  the  orchestra  does  in  the  later 
parts  of  the  Ring. 

Like  leading  motives,  references  to  the  law  of  hpaaavn  iraOtiv 
and  to  Helen  run  through  the  odes,  but  seldom  appear  in  the 
dialogue. 

Following  the  downfall  of  Oedipus,  the  Fourth  Stasimon  of 
the  Oedipus  Tyrannus  reviews  his  life,  briefly,  but  vividly,  em- 
phasizing its  contrasts  in  a  style  whose  grandeur  Wagner 
equals  in  the  march  that  follows  Siegfried's  death  in  Gotter- 
ddmmerung.  The  utter  hopelessness  of  vv.  1186-1188  is  ex- 
pressed musically  in  measures  1-13  (counting  as  1  the  measure 
following  "Briinnhilde  bietet  mir  .  .  .  Gruss!")-  The  crescendo 
and  diminuendo  occurring  twice  in  measures  14-25  contain 
a  suggestion  not  unlike  that  of  1189-1192,  and  the  sadness  of 
1193-1196  is  to  be  found  in  measures  26-38.  The  climax 
of  the  march  follows,  measures  39-63,  in  which  the  motives 
associated  with  Siegfried's  exploits  are  delivered  fortissimo^ 
producing  an  effect  like  that  of  1197-1203.  The  sudden 
extinguishing  of  this  blaze  of  glory  in  the  next  measures  is 
like  the  descent  to  1204.  There  are  only  seven  measures 
left  of  the  march,  while  half  of  the  ode  is  still  to  come,  but 
in  these  measures  the  Briinnhilde  motive  points  toward  the 
wrongdoing  that  has  caused  Siegfried's  death  —  a  crime 
committed  unconsciously,  like  that  of  Oedipus,  against  the 
one  person  in  the  world  he  should  have  cherished. 

Vv.  752-763  of  the  Hippolytus  picture  Phaedra's  voyage 
from  Crete  and  landing  at  Athens.  Such  a  contrast  between 
past  happiness  and  present  misfortune  as  is  indicated  in  755- 
760  is  generally  suggested  in  music  by  the  transfer  of  a  motive 
from  the  major  to  the  minor  mode,  or  by  some  change  in  the 


74  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

manner  of  delivering  it.  Instances  are  the  Ride  motive  in 
G otter ddmmerung,  II,  when  the  captive  Briinnhilde  is  led  in 
by  Gunther,  and  the  Kareol  motive  in  Act  III  of  Tristan  and 
Isolde.  The  latter  expresses,  when  it  first  occurs,  Kurwenal's 
joyous  certainty  of  his  master's  recovery,  and  it  sounds  again, 
sadly  and  brokenly,  when  Kurwenal  draws  his  last  breath 
beside  the  dead  Tristan. 

Hippolytus,  1118-1141,  is  reminiscent  of  pleasures  that 
will  never  be  repeated.  We  find  something  like  this  in  Lo- 
hengrin, III,  at  the  close  of  the  first  scene.  In  the  beginning 
of  this  scene  Wagner  introduces  a  lovely  phrase,  to  which 
both  Elsa  and  Lohengrin  sing  successively,  and  then  together, 
"Feeling  for  thee  so  sweet  a  glow  in  my  heart,  breathing  joy 
that  none  but  God  can  grant."  In  the  end  of  the  scene,  when 
Elsa  has  asked  the  question  that  compels  Lohengrin  to  leave, 
just  after  he  says,  "Alas!  now  all  our  happiness  is  lost!"  the 
orchestra  plays  this  phrase  in  a  way  that  makes  one  poignantly 
conscious  of  their  former  delight  and  of  the  fact  that  it  is  irre- 
trievably lost.  As  the  orchestra  recalls  something  previously 
sung,  so  the  Chorus  in  1138-1139,  "Bare  of  crowns  are  the 
resting-places  of  Leto's  daughter  in  the  deep,  fresh  grass," 
recalls  an  earlier  passage  in  trimeter,  73-74,  "For  thee  this 
wreathed  crown  from  the  unmown  meadow,  goddess,  I  have 
made  and  brought." 


CHAPTER  X 

ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  PRELUDES 

There  are  in  Wagner's  scores  a  number  of  important  orches- 
tral interludes,  which  separate  scenes,  as  the  choral  odes  sepa- 
rate Epeisodia,  while  his  preludes  correspond  in  some  ways 
to  the  Parodoi.  Where  the  Parodos  does  not  open  the  tragedy, 
the  information  given  in  the  Prologue  is  seldom  more  than  that 
required  for  the  complete  understanding  of  one  of  Wagner's 
Vorspiele.  Any  musical  listener  would  realize  at  the  first 
hearing  what  mood  each  prelude  was  intended  to  portray  and 
to  create.  But  to  understand  the  significance  of  the  themes, 
and  through  them  the  exact  relation  of  the  prelude  to  the 
events  of  the  drama,  a  preliminary  study  of  the  score  or  a 
previous  hearing  of  the  work,  or  portions  of  it,  is  essential. 

I.   The  Overture  to  the  Flying  Dutchman 
AND  THE  Parodos  of  the  Persae 

In  thematic  construction  the  overture  to  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man resembles  the  Parodos  of  the  Persae.  It  presents  two 
contrasting  themes,  the  motive  of  the  Dutchman  (the  musical 
symbol  for  his  recklessness  and  the  curse  it  brought  upon  him) 
and  the  motive  of  Redemption,  which  he  believes  can  never 
be  his.  So  Aeschylus  contrasts  the  pomp  and  magnitude 
of  the  Persian  army  with  the  defeat  it  never  expected  to 
encounter.  He  uses  more  words  to  describe  the  army's  vast- 
ness  than  to  anticipate  its  misfortunes,  but  the  fear  of  dis- 
aster, first  suggested  in  w.  8-11,  is  more  forcibly  expressed 
in  vv.  93-101,  and  completely  dominates  the  last  strophes 
of    the    ode,    vv.    114-139.     Wagner    treats    the    Redemption 

75 


76  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

motive  in  much  the  same  way.  It  appears  first  in  measures 
65-79,  pianissimo;  later,  in  measures  285-288,  fortissimo 
and  maestoso;  and  beginning  in  measure  329,  faster  and 
again  fortissimo,  it  forms  the  main  part  of  the  finale. 

The  overture  begins  with  a  tremolo  on  D  and  A,  but  no 
definite  thematic  idea  is  expressed  until  the  third  measure, 
where  the  horns  announce  the  Dutchman  motive.  It  is  a 
curious  fact  that  the  third  word  in  the  Parados  is  the  first  to 
convey  a  distinct  idea  to  the  listener,  and  that  this  word, 
Uepa-lhv,  like  the  Dutchman  motive,  designates  the  individuals 
from  whom  the  drama  takes  its  name.  The  first  division  of 
the  overture  indicates  the  scene  of  the  drama  as  clearly  as 
do  the  lines  (1-7),  "Of  the  Persians  who  went  to  the  land  of 
Hellas  the  trusted  counsellors  we  are  called,  and  of  their  rich 
and  gold-filled  dwellings  the  guardians,  whom,  by  right  of 
rank,  himself  King  Xerxes,  royal  son  of  Darius,  chose  to  watch 
over  his  country."  The  stormy  sea  is  the  Dutchman's  only 
home,  and  it  would  be  as  unnatural  to  think  of  him  away  from 
its  tumult  as  of  the  Persians  deprived  of  their  "rich  and  gold- 
filled"  palaces.  Then,  with  a  slackening  of  the  tempo,  the 
second  theme  is  introduced  (measure  65),  pianissimo,  corre- 
sponding to  the  first  vague  forebodings  of  the  Persian  elders 
(10-11),  "But  about  the  return  of  the  king  and  his  gold-clad 
army,  forebodings  of  evil  now  greatly  trouble  the  heart  in 
my  breast."  The  word  Persians  in  v.  15  brings  us  back  to 
what  we  may  call  the  first  theme  of  the  Parados  and  leads 
directly  to  the  long  enumeration,  beginning  in  v.  16,  much 
as  the  Dutchman  motive,  pianissimo,  in  measure  90,  leads 
to  a  return  of  the  storm-music,  which  continues  without  in- 
terruption from  measure  97  to  measure  179.  In  this  passage 
(measure  129),  there  is  a  repetition  of  the  Dutchman  motive, 
fortissimo,  which  might  possibly  be  compared  to  the 
recurrence  of  the  word  Persians  in  v.  23,  where  it  is  given  a 
more  emphatic  position  than  in  either  v.  1  or  v.  16. 


ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  PRELUDES  77 

The  first  change  of  metre  (from  six-quarter  to  four-quarter) 
occurs  with  the  introduction  of  the  Sailors'  Chorus  (measure 
179).  This  corresponds  to  the  change  from  anapaests  to 
ionics,  V.  65,  where  we  come  to  the  first  mention  of  bridging 
the  Hellespont.  In  both  cases  a  new  theme  is  treated  briefly 
and  dismissed,  to  reappear  a  little  later  {Fl.  D.,  measure  267; 
Pers.  109-113).  This  third  theme,  as  introduced  here,  seems 
only  to  emphasize  the  Dutchman's  misfortune  by  contrasting 
wdth  it  the  cheerfulness  of  the  Norwegian  sailors,  and  yet  in 
the  course  of  the  drama  it  is  through  meeting  these  sailors 
and  their  captain,  Daland,  that  the  Dutchman  finds  Senta 
and  his  redemption.  The  reference  to  bridging  the  Hellespont 
bears  a  similar  relation  to  the  principal  theme  of  the  Parodos. 
That  action  appeared  to  be  the  supreme  display  of  the  Per- 
sians' power,  but  it  led  to  their  crushing  defeat. 

Soon  after,  we  find  the  first  emphatic  enunciation  of  the 
second  theme,  which  interrupts  the  storm  music  quite  sud- 
denly at  measure  285.  It  appears  no  longer  as  the  remote 
and  indistinct  vision  suggested  in  measures  65-79,  but  as  a 
present  power,  majestic  and  invincible.  We  may  observe 
the  same  difference  between  the  indefinite  foreboding  of  Persae, 
w.  10-11,  and  the  convincing  force  of  vv.  93-101,  "But  the 
wiles  contrived  by  God  to  deceive,  what  mortal  man  shall 
escape?  Who  is  he  who  with  swift  foot  and  fortunate  leap 
will  dart  away?  With  kindly  and  beguiling  mien  Ate  draws 
a  mortal  into  her  net ;  thence  it  is  not  possible  for  man  to  spring 
forth  and  flee,"  which  interrupts,  most  unexpectedly,  the 
description  of  the  might  of  the  Persian  army.  A  brief  reap- 
pearance of  the  first  theme  follows  (measures  313-320), 
corresponding  to  vv.  102-107,  after  which,  with  a  change 
of  metre  from  six-quarter  to  four-quarter,  the  second  theme 
estabhshes  its  supremacy,  just  as  with  the  change  from  ionics 
to  trochees  at  Persae,  v.  114,  forebodings  of  misfortune  sup- 
plant all  else  in  the  minds  of  the  Persian  elders.     The  anapaests 


78  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

(140-154)  form  a  transition  leading  to  the  entrance  of  Atossa, 
much  as  the  orchestral  opening  to  Act  I  accompanies  the  en- 
trance and  anchoring  of  the  Norwegian  ship  and  leads  to  the 
appearance  of  Daland. 

II.   The  Overture  to  Tannhauser  and  the  Parodos 
OF  THE  Oedipus  Tyrannus 

The  greater  part  of  the  Overture  to  Tannhauser  pictures 
the  revels  of  the  Venusberg,  much  as  the  Parodos  of  the  Oedipus 
Tyrannus  describes  the  plague.  The  latter  destroyed  the 
strength  of  Thebes,  as  the  former  consumed  the  moral  fibre 
of  its  victims.  This  vividly  colored  music  is  preceded  by  the 
Pilgrims^  Chorus,  a  prayer  for  deliverance  from  spiritual  weak- 
ness that  has  the  dignity  and  the  urgency  of  Oedipus  Tyrannus, 
158  £f.:  "First  on  thee,  I  call,  daughter  of  Zeus,  immortal 
Athene,  and  the  protectress  of  the  land,  thy  sister,  Artemis, 
who  in  the  circle  of  the  agora  sits  on  her  glorious  throne,  and 
I  implore  Phoebus,  the  far-darter,  —  O  ye  three  who  ward 
off  death,  appear,  I  beseech  ye!  If  ever  before  when  doom 
rushed  upon  the  city,  ye  drove  afar  the  flame  of  woe,  come  also 
now."  Both  passages  are  characterized  by  that  universality 
which  makes  it  possible  to  associate  them  with  other  situations 
in  which  circumstances  would  be  different,  but  the  need  the 
same.  The  musical  link  between  the  divisions  of  the  over- 
ture is  the  theme  that  appears  first  in  measures  17-31,  and 
later,  with  a  change  in  rhythmical  treatment,  in  measures 
125-137.  A  similar  connection  between  the  first  antistrophe 
and  the  second  strophe  is  effected  by  the  word  trrifxa  (woe), 
which  we  find  in  165-167,  and  again  in  168-169,  "O  horror! 
countless  are  the  woes  I  bear,"  where  (like  the  theme  in  the 
Pilgrims^  Chorus)  it  has  a  different  position  in  the  metrical 
scheme,  which  has  itself  been  altered,  with  the  change  of 
subject,  to  a  more  rapid  movement.  The  appearance  of 
four-quarter  rhythms  and  a  quicker  tempo  with  the  entrance 


ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  PRELUDES  79 

of  the  Venus  music  (the  Pilgrims'  Chorus  is  in  three-quarter) 
is  parallel  to  the  change  from  the  dactyls  of  the  first  strophe 
and  antistrophe  to  the  logaoedics  of  the  second.  The  aban- 
donment of  the  sojourner  in  the  Veniisberg  to  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  is  represented  by  several  striking  themes,  much  as 
the  abandonment  of  the  city  to  the  plague  is  shown  in  the 
pictures  that  crowd  one  upon  another  in  vv.  168-191. 

Noteworthy  also  is  the  fact  that  the  controlling  agency  in 
the  drama  is  presented  first.  The  Pilgrims'  Chorus,  suggesting 
the  spiritual  power  of  human  aspiration  and  endeavor,  repre- 
sents, like  the  oracle  of  Apollo  addressed  in  the  beginning  of 
the  Parodos,  the  higher  force  which  is  to  direct  the  course  of 
events. 

III.    The  Vorspiel  to  Tristan  and  Isolde  and  the 
Parodos  of  the  Supplices  of  Aeschylus 

In  contrast  with  the  preludes  to  Wagner's  earlier  works 
the  Vorspiel  to  Tristan  and  Isolde  suggests  no  pictures.  It  is 
the  expression  of  a  mood  for  which  one  could  not  easily  find 
a  counterpart  in  the  natural  or  the  legendary  world.  Long- 
ing, as  hopeless  as  deathless,  is  voiced  in  every  phrase,  as  the 
note  of  appeal  sounds  from  beginning  to  end  of  the  Parodos 
of  the  Supplices.  We  hear  this  note  even  before  we  learn 
who  the  Chorus  are,  for  like  the  Longing  motive  in  Tristan 
(measures  1-15),  it  stands  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  drama 
(1-2):  "May  Zeus,  god  of  suppliants,  look  graciously  upon 
our  company."  The  Danaids  justify  their  appeal  to  Zeus 
and  the  Argives  by  the  claim  of  relationship  to  both  through 
descent  from  lo.  A  similar  justification  of  the  longing  of 
Tristan  and  Isolde  is  represented  by  the  Glayice  motive,  which 
appears  in  measures  17-19.  This  motive  is  associated  with 
the  time,  prior  to  the  drama,  when,  in  an  unguarded  moment, 
a  glance  revealed  to  them  the  love  that  subsequent  acts  ap- 
peared to  deny.     In  the  course  of  the  prelude  the  motive 


80  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

reappears  seven  times  (measures  32,  40,  55,  74,  84,  87,  94), 
but  the  complete  story  of  the  glance  is  not  told  until  Scene 
III  of  Act  I.  The  story  of  lo,  referred  to  frequently  in  the 
Parodos  (vv.  17-19,  41-54,  141-143,  151-153,  162-165,  170- 
172),  is  more  fully  treated  in  the  Second  Stasimon  (524-599). 
Although  convinced  of  the  justice  of  their  appeal,  the  Danaids 
are  not  certain  that  it  will  be  granted,  and  they  feel  that  in 
the  event  of  failure  they  will  kill  themselves^rather  than  sub- 
mit to  the  sons  of  Aegyptus  (154-161).  To  Isolde,  also, 
death  appears  as  a  way  of  escape  from  longing  unfulfilled, 
and  the  phrase  called  the  motive  of  Deliverance  by  Death  domi- 
nates measures  63-72  of  the  Vorspiel.  The  graceful  char- 
acter of  this  motive,  which  is  absolutely  devoid  of  the  sombre 
quality  that  generally  distinguishes  themes  of  similar  signifi- 
cance, may  be  compared  with  the  surprising  metaphor  found 
in  159-160,  "We  shall  come  to  the  king  of  the  dead  with  sup- 
pliant olive-branches,  the  ropes  in  which  we  shall  hang  our- 
selves." In  the  conclusion  of  the  Parodos  the  note  of  appeal 
is  again  heard  (v.  175),  "From  on  high  may  he  hearken  to 
our  call,"  as  is  the  Longing  motive  at  the  end  of  the  Vorspiel 
(measures  103-106),  while  the  last  ominous  phrase  (measures 
106-111)  finds  a  parallel  in  vv.  165-166,  "On  an  angry  wind 
comes  the  storm,"  which  were  undoubtedly  repeated  at  the 
close  of  the  antistrophe. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  CONCLUSIONS 

Like  the  Greek  Chorus,  Wagner's  orchestra  generally  con- 
cludes the  drama.  It  bridges  the  space  separating  the  events 
portrayed  from  the  life  of  everyday  to  which  we  return,  instead 
of  dropping  us  off  at  the  end  to  get  across  as  best  we  may.  It 
lends  dignity  to  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  just  as  the  recited  ana- 
paests lend  dignity  to  the  withdrawal  of  actors  and  Chorus, 
and  it  usually  states  in  a  general  way  the  central  idea  of  the 
drama. 

Tannhduser  is  the  only  one  of  the  dramas  in  which  the  last 
measures  of  the  orchestral  score  are  not  particularly  significant. 
They  are  simply  a  repetition  of  the  chords  of  the  dominant 
and  tonic,  and  might  serve  well  enough  for  the  conclusion 
of  almost  any  opera,  like  the  ending  we  find  Euripides  repeat- 
ing in  plays  as  different  as  the  Alcestis,  the  Medea,  and  the 
Bacchae.  These  measures  are  intended  to  do  no  more  than 
accompany  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  for  what  the  orchestra  usu- 
ally contributes  at  the  end  of  the  drama  has  already  been 
expressed  in  the  final  singing  of  the  Pilgrims'  Chorus. 

The  conclusion  of  the  Gdtterddmmerung  is  exceptional  in  that 
the  leading  motive  there  employed  is  not  one  that  has  played 
an  important  part  in  the  score.  It  is  the  motive  named  Re- 
demption by  Love,  representing  the  self-sacrificing  impulse 
which  is  the  opposite  of  the  ambition  that  caused  the  tragic 
end  of  Wotan  just  witnessed.  In  the  last  lines  of  the  Antig- 
one, Sophocles  exalts  in  a  similar  way  t6  ^poveTv  (under- 
standing), a  quahty  which  is  the  opposite  of  that  which  has 
caused  Croon's  misfortune   (1348-1349):    ''Understanding  is 

81 


82  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

the  very  beginning  of  happiness."  The  cause  is  then  referred 
to  in  a  general  way  (1349-1352),  "One  must  in  matters  affect- 
ing the  gods  commit  no  sin.  Great  words  bring  great  blows 
upon  the  overboastful  as  penalty,"  as  in  G otter ddmmerung 
the  cause  of  Wotan's  downfall,  the  building  of  Walhall,  is 
recalled  by  the  Walhall  motive.  This  motive  first  appeared 
near  the  beginning  of  the  drama  (in  the  opening  of  Scene  II 
of  Rheingold)  and  the  tnotif  of  the  corresponding  lines  of  this 
chorus  also  appeared  near  the  beginning  of  the  play,  in  the 
Parados  (127-128),  "Zeus  hates  exceedingly  the  proud  tongue's 
boasts."  Finally  we  have  a  line  that  leaves  one  feeling  that 
conflict  and  suffering  have  given  place  to  peace,  1353,  "To 
age  they  have  taught  understanding."  This  is  paralleled 
in  Gotterddmmerung  by  the  concluding  repetition  of  the  Re- 
demption motive. 

Parsifal,  too,  has  a  quiet  ending,  and  it  is  possible,  I  think, 
to  see  in  it  some  resemblance  to  the  concluding  lines  of  the 
Ion  of  Euripides.  Parsifal  has  at  last  come  to  fulfil  the  longing 
of  the  Grail  knights  for  a  deliverer,  as  Ion  is  going  to  fulfil 
the  longing  of  Xanthos  and  Creusa  for  a  son.  Both  are  to 
assume  positions  of  high  honor,  for  which,  in  the  drama,  they 
have  been  proved  worthy,  Ion  by  birth  and  Parsifal  by  char- 
acter. In  both  cases  the  hand  of  a  divine  power  has  been  at 
work,  and  its  long-doubted  clemency  finally  proved.  In  the 
Ion  the  scene  has  been  laid  throughout,  and  in  Parsifal,  through 
two  of  the  three  acts,  in  the  precinct  of  that  power.  Parsifal 
concludes  with  the  most  significant  of  three  motives  that  have 
been  associated  with  the  Grail  and  its  knights.  This  is  the 
motive  of  Sympathy  (also  called  the  motive  of  the  Eucharist), 
which  has  been  used  to  represent  the  Christlike  love  for  all 
mankind,  which  the  knights  endeavor  to  achieve,  and  which 
has  been  reflected  in  Parsifal's  life.  The  last  utterance  of 
the  motive  by  the  orchestra  seems,  like  the  end  of  the  Ion, 
to   be  indirectly  addressed  to  the  audience.     It   exalts   the 


ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  CONCLUSIONS         83 

divine  power  that  has  been  active  in  the  drama,  and  seems 
to  suggest  that  those  who  order  their  Uves  in  accordance  with 
its  dictates  will,  like  Parsifal,  be  rewarded  in  the  end.  The 
implication  resembles  what  is  actually  expressed  in  Ion,  1619- 
1622. 

At  the  close  of  Tristan  and  Isolde  the  orchestra  gently  pro- 
duces a  relaxing  of  the  tension  in  which  we  have  been  held 
throughout.  By  playing  the  Longing  motive  it  points  again 
to  the  subject  of  the  drama,  just  as  the  Chorus  does  at  the 
end  of  Oedipus  Tyr annus  (1524),  "O  dwellers  in  our  native 
city,  Thebes,  behold,  this  is  Oedipus."  This  motive,  because 
of  its  close  relation  to  the  important  situations  of  the  drama, 
recalls  all  that  has  combined  to  produce  the  tragic  picture 
before  us,  as  do  the  lines  (1525-1527):  "by  him  the  famous 
riddle  was  solved,  and  mightiest  was  he  of  men;  on  his  for- 
tune no  envious  glance  is  cast  by  the  people,  by  such  a  wave 
of  dire  disaster  he  has  been  stricken."  The  moment  in  which 
Wagner  makes  us  contemplate  the  final  picture,  where  the 
central  figures  are  motionless  in  death  and  the  others  in  grief, 
gives  opportunity  for  a  partial  detachment  and  a  turning 
from  the  particular  to  the  general,  such  as  is  produced  by 
1528-1529.  ''Therefore,  in  the  case  of  mortals,  look  thought- 
fully toward  that  last  day,  and  call  none  happy,"  and  in  the 
last  tones  that  rise  from  the  orchestra  there  is  a  suggestion  of 
ultimate  peace,  as  there  is  in  1529-1530,  "till  he  has  passed 
the  end  of  life  and  suffered  no  distress." 

The  end  of  the  Walkiire  is  in  some  respects  not  unlike  that 
of  the  Ajax.  The  conflict  of  wills  is  over  and  Wotan  is  con- 
cerned with  the  performance  of  the  last  service  he  can  render 
the  daughter  who  lies  before  him  asleep  and  from  whom  he 
is  parting  forever.  There  is  the  same  dignified  and  tender 
pathos  in  his  actions  and  the  music  accompanying  them  that 
there  is  in  Teucer's  directions  for  Ajax's  burial  (1402-1417). 
And  in  the  last  few  measures  played  by  the  orchestra  after 


84  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

Wotan  has  turned  away  there  is  a  complete  impersonality 
and  abstraction  from  all  that  is  definite,  such  as  we  find  in 
the  concluding  lines  of  the  Chorus  (1418-1420). 

The  Rheingold  ends,  as  all  Greek  tragedies  had  to  end,  with 
the  characters  marching  away  from  the  spectators.  The 
orchestra  plays  the  motives  associated  with  the  castle  toward 
which  they  are  proceeding  and  the  rainbow-bridge  over  which 
they  go.  The  anapaests  of  the  Chorus  that  conclude  the 
Hecuba  and  the  Supplices  of  Euripides  also  refer  definitely 
to  the  marching  they  accompany  and  to  its  supposed  goal. 
Like  the  Rheingold  music,  too,  they  reflect  the  mood  in  which 
the  drama  concludes,  which  happens  to  be  quite  different 
in  the  two  cases:  Hecuba,  1293-1295,  "Go  to  the  harbor  and 
the  tents,  friends,  and  make  trial  of  the  labors  ordered  by  our 
masters.  Cruel  is  necessity,"  and  Supplices,  1232-1234, 
"Let  us  go,  Adrastus,  and  give  pledges  to  this  man  and  the 
city;  worthy  of  honor  is  their  toil  for  us." 

In  the  last  part  of  Act  III  of  Siegfried  the  orchestral  and 
vocal  parts  are  as  closely  united  as  the  choral  and  solo  parts 
in  the  Ko/i/ids  that  concludes  the  Persae  of  Aeschylus.  The 
orchestra  supports  the  voices  with  all  the  volume  at  its  com- 
mand, and  gives  sympathetic  expression  to  the  emotions 
that  dominate  the  scene.  The  joy  of  Siegfried  and  Brlinn- 
hilde  is  as  ecstatic  as  the  grief  of  Xerxes  is  overwhelming, 
and  the  few  measures  played  by  the  orchestra  after  their  last 
words  simply  conclude  its  reflection  of  their  joy,  as  the  last 
lines  of  the  Chorus  conclude  their  reflection  of  their  king's 
sorrow  {Pers.  1074-1076):  "I  will  convoy  thee  with  sad  la- 
ments and   groans." 

The  Flying  Dutchman  ends  with  action,  like  the  Electra  of 
Sophocles.  The  Dutchman's  redemption  is  accomphshed 
when  Senta  throws  herself  into  the  sea,  and  the  restoration 
of  Agamemnon's  dominion  to  its  rightful  owner  is  accom- 
phshed by  the  death  of  Aegisthus.     Then,  in  the  Flying  Dutch- 


ORCHESTRAL  AND  CHORAL  CONCLUSIONS         85 

man,  the  orchestra  briefly  sums  up  the  situation  by  playing 
the  Redemption  motive  in  its  most  triumphant  form,  and 
recalHng  in  the  Dutchman  motive  the  suffering  from  which 
the  hero  has  been  freed.  The  Chorus  does  practically  the 
same  thing  with  reference  to  Orestes,  when  it  says  (1508-1510), 
"O  seed  of  Atreus,  after  much  suffering,  in  freedom  thou  hast 
but  now  emerged,  by  this  attempt  restored  to  thy  right  place." 
It  is  worth  noting  that  the  first  drama  in  which  Wagner's 
style  reaches  its  full  development,  Tristan  and  Isolde,  is  also 
the  first  for  which  he  wrote  a  quiet  orchestral  conclusion.^ 
From  that  time  on,  he  ended  every  one  of  his  tragic  works 
in  this  way. 

1  Also  the  first  one  written  after  his  reading  of  Greek  tragedy.  Cf.  p.  3. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LONG  SCENES  AND  SPEECHES 

Next  to  the  important  part  assigned  to  the  orchestra,  the 
most  striking  characteristic  of  form  in  Wagner's  dramas  is, 
perhaps,  the  prevalence  of  long  scenes  between  two,  or  at  most 
three,  actors.  He  followed  the  Greek  custom  so  far  as  to  con- 
struct his  dramas  almost  entirely  in  this  way.  Sometimes 
there  is  a  chorus  on  the  stage  as  well,  or  a  smaller  group  that 
serves  a  similar  artistic  purpose,  like  the  Rhinemaidens,  the 
Valkyrs,  or  the  squires  to  whom  Gurnemanz  tells  the  story 
of  Amfortas  and  Klingsor.  ■  When  such  a  group  is  intro- 
duced, its  dramatic  functions  are  likely  to  resemble  those 
of  the  Greek  Chorus  in  the  Epeisodia.  The  squires  in  the 
first  act  of  Parsifal  are  sympathetic  listeners,  like,  for  example, 
the  Chorus  of  Oceanides  in  the  Prometheus.  In  both  cases 
their  presence  and  their  questions  give  opportunity  for  the 
narration  of  what  occurred  before  the  drama  begins.  Once 
in  Wagner,  a  group  (the  Rhinemaidens  in  Rheingold)  is  made  a 
character  in  the  drama,  with  interests  at  stake,  like  the  Chorus 
in  the  Supplices  of  Aeschylus.  In  no  case,  however,  are  the 
separate  members  of  these  groups  differentiated,  and  in  es- 
timating the  number  of  characters  taking  part  in  a  scene  we 
are  justified  in  considering  the  group  always  as  a  dramatic 
unit,  and  frequently  as  corresponding  to  the  Greek  Chorus. 

In  five  of  the  ten  music-dramas,  then,  we  find  no  scene  in 
which  there  are  more  than  three  actors.  These  are  the  Fly- 
ing Dutchman,    Tristan  and  Isolde,    Walkure,   Siegfried,   and 

Parsifal.     In  the  Gotterddmnierung  there  are  only  two  scenes 

86 


LONG  SCENES  AND  SPEECHES  87 

where  more  than  three  appear  (I,  3,  and  a  part  of  II),  and 
these  are  very  brief.  Similarly  limited  in  the  nmnber  of 
characters  introduced  are  two  of  the  four  scenes  of  Rheingold 
and  the  greater  part  of  Tannhduser  (including  most  of  Act  I, 
the  first  half  of  Act  II,  and  all  of  Act  III).  This  leaves  only 
Lohengrin  and  Meister singer,  in  each  of  which  there  is  one 
entire  scene  where  no  more  than  three  characters  appear 
{Loh.  Ill,  1,  and  Meist.  Ill,  1). 

Characteristic  of  Greek  tragic  dialogue  are  the  long  speeches 
and  the  contrasting  a-nxofj^vOui.  Long  speeches  occur  often 
in  Wagner's  works  as  well,  and  it  is  in  these  that  he  secures 
some  of  his  finest  effects.  Seldom,  however,  does  he  employ 
any  rapid  alternation  of  speakers  resembling  a-TLxofj^vOia.  In 
Parsifal,  II,  1,  Klingsor  and  Kundry  answer  each  other  for 
a  time  in  short  sentences,  but  no  feeling  of  balance  is  pro- 
duced or  desired.  Perhaps  the  nearest  approach  to  o-rixo/iv^ta 
is  in  the  quarrel  between  Alberich  and  Mime  before  Fafner's 
cave  in  Siegfried,  II.  Alberich's  first  three  questions  are  each 
three  lines  long,  and  Mime  answers  each  in  three  lines;  then 
Alberich  is  given  four  lines  at  once,  and  Mime  answers  in 
four  lines;  and  after  three  of  these  eight-line  groups  have  been 
thus  divided  between  them,  Alberich's  angry  utterance  suddenly 
expands  to  ten  lines  and  Mime's  reply  equals  it,  after  which 
both  limit  themselves  to  five  lines.  The  lines  are  so  short 
and  the  delivery  so  rapid  that  the  effect  of  the  alternating 
three-   and    four-line   exclamations    is    not    unlike    that    of 

CTTlXOfJ^vOui. 

Some  of  the  finest  passages  in  Wagner  are  the  "narratives," 
long  speeches  in  which  a  character  relates  what  is  supposed 
to  have  happened  off  the  stage,  or  before  the  beginning  of 
the  drama.  The  events  so  described  are  often  as  interesting 
and  as  important  as  any  that  are  represented.  In  this  respect 
the  speeches  resemble  many  of  the  most  splendid  passages  in 
Greek  tragedy;   but  while  the  latter  are  not  infrequently  put 


88  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

in  the  mouths  of  characters,  hke  the  messengers,  who  are 
not  personally  affected  to  any  great  extent  by  what  they  describe 
so  vividly,  in  Wagner  the  character  who  tells  the  story  is 
generally  the  one  most  deeply  concerned.  In  Tannhduser, 
III,  Tannhauser  gives  an  account  of  his  pilgrimage  to  Rome, 
which  serves  a  dramatic  purpose  similar  to  that  of  the  speech 
of  Prometheus  in  Aeschylus's  Prometheus,  199-243.  The 
services  which  Tannhauser  and  Prometheus  have  performed, 
and  the  condemnation  to  punishment  which  is  their  reward, 
must  be  known,  if  the  audience  is  to  understand  fully  their 
situation  and  their  feelings.  Besides  this,  Tannhauser's  nar- 
rative, like  that  of  Prometheus,  makes  us  realize,  more  keenly 
than  any  complaint  could,  the  injustice  in  the  treatment  the 
speaker  has  received.  In  Tristan  and  Isolde,  Act  I,  Isolde 
describes  her  first  meeting  with  Tristan.  It  took  place  before 
the  opening  of  the  drama,  but  we  recognize  in  it  the  beginning 
and  cause  of  all  that  is  put  before  us.  The  meeting  of  Oedipus 
with  Laius  bears  a  similar  relation  to  the  plot  of  the  Oedipus 
Tyrannus,  and  the  dramatic  purpose  of  the  speech  in  which 
he  describes  it  (771-833)  is  like  that  of  Isolde's.  Long  ac- 
counts, like  these,  of  something  outside  the  drama,  but  closely 
related  to  it,  are  common  in  Wagner,  and  many  are  raised, 
by  the  music  that  is  an  essential  part  of  them,  to  a  level  of 
high  poetic  beauty.  Such  are  Lohengrin's  description  of 
the  Grail  and  its  knights  (Loh.  Ill,  2),  Siegmund's  story  of 
his  adventures,  and  Sieglinde's  account  of  Wotan's  visit  to 
Hunding's  feast  {Wk.  I),  and  the  story  of  Amfortas  and  Kling- 
sor  which  Gurnemanz  tells  in  Parsifal,  I. 

Waltraute,  in  G otter ddmmerung ,  I,  4,  is  perhaps  the  only  one 
of  Wagner's  characters  that  may  be  compared  to  an  ayyeXos. 
Her  personality  is  subordinated  to  her  message,  and  we  are 
interested  in  what  she  tells  for  its  own  sake,  not  because  it  is 
a  part  of  her  experience.  Through  her  eyes  we  see  the  gods 
in  Walhall,  just  as,  in  Euripides's  Bacchae,  677  ff.,  we  see  the 


LONG  SCENES  AND  SPEECHES  89 

Theban  women  in  the  forest  through  the  eyes  of  the  messenger. 
His  description  of  the  manner  in  which  the  cattle  are  torn 
Hmb  from  limb  by  the  frenzied  women  prepares  for  the  later 
description  of  the  death  of  Pentheus,  which  is  the  climax  of 
the  drama  (1043  ff.)-  Similarly,  Waltraute's  narrative  pre- 
pares for  the  climax  and  conclusion  of  the  Gdtterddmmerung, 
in  which  we  see  Wotan  sitting  with  the  gods,  while  Walhall 
is  burned  by  the  flames  that  rise  from  the  funeral  pyre  of 
Siegfried. 

Less  frequent  are  the  long  speeches  that  might  be  called 
meditations,  delivered  when  no  other  characters  are  present 
as  listeners.  Sachs's  "Wahn!  Wahn!"  {Meist.  Ill)  and  "Wie 
duftet"  {Meist.  II),  the  Flying  Dutchman's  "Die  Frist  ist 
um"  (Act  I),  and  Siegfried's  reflections  in  the  Waldweben 
scene  {Sf.  II)  are  examples.  The  almost  constant  presence 
of  the  Chorus  as  listeners  makes  such  meditations  seldom 
possible  in  Greek  tragedy.  However,  we  do  find  them  occa- 
sionally, as  in  Agamemnon,  1  ff.,  Prometheus,  88  ff.,  and,  if 
we  include  lyric  measures,  the  lovely  song  of  Ion  (82  ff ) . 

Instances  in  Wagner  where  a  sudden  passionate  outcry  is 
followed  by  a  quieter,  more  restrained  passage  are: 

Wotan's  scene  with  Briinnhilde  in  Walkiire,  II. 

EHzabeth's  plea  for  Tannhauser  in  Tannhduser,  II. 

Sieglinde's  "  Weiter !  Weiter ! "  followed  by  "  Da  er  sie  liebend," 
etc.,  in  Walkiire,  II. 

The  plaint  of  Amfortas  in  Parsifal,  1,2. 

The  instances  in  Greek  tragedy  are  numerous.  Among 
them  are: 

Aeschylus,  Prometheus,  561  ff .  and  640  ff. 

Sophocles,  Ajax,  33  ff .  and  430  ff . ;  Electra,  84  ff .  and 
254  ff.;   Trachiniae,  983  ff.  and  1046  ff. 

Euripides,  Alcestis,  244  ff.  and  280  ff.;  Medea,  96  ff.  and 
214  ff. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


A   FEW   EEMAEKS  ON   RHYTHMS 

As  the  rhythms  in  Greek  were  determined  by  the  length 
of  successive  syllables,  it  is  generally  possible  to  decide  what 
they  were  by  reading  the  words.  But  we  may  read  Wagner's 
text  without  getting  any  idea  of  the  variety  of  rhythm,  even 
in  the  vocal  parts,  while  the  effects  often  produced  by  con- 
flicting rhythms  in  the  orchestra  must,  of  course,  be  heard 
to  be  appreciated.  In  the  first  act  of  Tristan,  the  sailor's 
song  and  Kurwenal's  answer  to  Isolde  begin  with  lines  that 
seem  to  the  reader  rhythmically  identical:  "Frisch  weht  der 
Wind  der  Heimat  zu"  and  "  Wer  Kornwalls  Kron'  und  Englands 
Erb'."  But  Wagner  makes  of  the  former  a  graceful  phrase 
in  three-quarter  metre,  running  through  a  little  less  than 
two  measures: 

/ 1  ^.  ^  J.   /  I  rin  J 

and  of  the  latter  a  heavy,  emphatic  phrase  in  four-four  metre 
filling  four  measures: 


J 


J    J. 


In  passages  of  emotional  intensity  the  musical  element  becomes 
more  important  than  the  verbal,  and  several  tones  are  some- 
times sung  to  one  syllable.  SiegHnde,  in  the  last  act  of  Walkure, 
sings  sixteen  tones  to  nine  syllables : 

O         hehr     stes       Wun    —  der 


J. 


/ ;  / 


^  I  O'- 1 J 


Herr 


lich — ste    Maid 


J. 


/ 


J.   J 

90 


/     J. 


A  FEW  REMARKS  ON  RHYTHMS  91 

To  produce  this  rhythm  in  Greek,  it  would  be  necessary  to  use 
words  with  more  syllables ;  as,  for  instance, 

Kat    Oavfidartov  /xot   Todi^   iariv^ 

irapOivf.   KvSpa  fxaXicrT  —  ' 

Wagner's  habit  of  giving  rhythmical  prominence  to  the 
important  words  in  a  phrase  is  invariable.  In  the  following 
lines  from  Elsa's  prayer  the  italicized  words  receive  rhyth- 
mical emphasis: 

"0  Herr,  nun  meinem  Ritter  sage, 
dass  er  mir  /le//'  in  meiner  iVoL" 

Not  only  do  they  fall  on  accented  beats,  but  they  are  also 
sustained  much  longer  than  the  less  important  words  which 
connect  them.  This  is  far  from  being  a  constant  practice 
with  opera-composers,  as  it  is  with  Wagner,  and  as  it  was 
with  the  Greeks.  An  example  chosen  at  random  is  (0.  T. 
203  ff.) : 

AvKCi'  ava^,  TO.  T€  (rot  )(fiv<TO<TT p6(f>wv  air    a.yKvXa.v 
ySe'Aea   OiXotfX    av   aSdfiaT    ivSaTelcrdaL 
dpuyya  TrpoaTaxdevTa. 

(The  underscored  words  are  those  which  contain  long  syllables.) 
Such  comparisons  make  one  keenly  aware  of  the  difference 
between  the  two  languages.  Long  words  in  Greek  do  not 
necessarily  produce  a  sense  of  heaviness,  as  they  generally 
do  in  German  or  in  English.  The  large  number  of  vowels 
and  liquids  prevents  this,  and  it  often  seems  as  though  each 
syllable  brought  with  it  an  additional  grace.  Cf.  Eur.  Hec. 
923  ff.,  and  /.   T.  427  ff.: 

OTTOV    TTCVTJ/KOVTa     KOpdv 

^■qpT^Sojv  ....  X^P^*- 
fiiXirovatv  iyKvKXtOi, 
irXr^(Ti(TrLOL(Ti   Trvoais 


92  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

avpi^ovTwv  Kara  irpvfxvav 

avpaL<;   (o'vv)   voTt'ats 

7]    TTVeVfUKTl    Ze(f>vpoVj 
Tav  TToXvopvidov  €7r    ai- 
av,  XevKOLV  olktolv,    A^^iX^- 
os   Spofxov:  KaXAto'TaStovs, 
a^eivov  Kara  ttovtov; 

There  is  an  undulating  quality  in  the  words,  like  that  of  a 
musical  phrase.  Beside  it  German  words  are  rough  and 
choppy.  But  Wagner  often  avoids  this  effect  by  stretching 
the  words  over  phrases  that  join  the  ragged  edges  so  smoothly 
that  we  are  not  conscious  of  them.  This  is  what  he  does 
in  such  passages  as  "Die  Liebe  lockte  den  Lenz,"  in  Sieg- 
mund's  Spring  Song. 

Long  tones  in  Wagner's  scores,  like  long  syllables  in  the 
Greek  tragic  lyrics,  appear  in  large  numbers  in  prayers  and 
invocations.  Examples  may  be  found  in  the  prayers  of  Elsa, 
Ehzabeth,  Tannhauser  ("Erbarm'  dich  mein,"  in  Act  II), 
Parsifal  ("Erloser!  Heiland!  Herr  der  Huld,"  in  Act  II), 
Amfortas  (Act  III),  as  also  in  Aeschylus,  Seven  against 
Thebes,  166 ff.,  Choephoroi,  783 ff.,  Eumenides,  321  ff.;  Sophocles, 
Ajax,  596  ff.,  Philoctetes,  1080  ff.;  Euripedes,  Iphigenia  in 
Tauris,  123  ff.  Throughout  the  last  of  these  passages  long 
syllables  predominate,  and  consequently  the  occasional  groups 
of  short  ones  stand  out  in  bold  relief  (137-138,  220,  232).  This 
rhythmic  speeding  occurs  where  personal  feeling  is  uppermost. 
Wagner  has  recourse  to  it  in  similar  passages  in  the  prayers  of 
Ehzabeth,  Elsa,  Ortrud  (Act  II),  and  Siegmund  (Act  I). 

Groups  of  short  syllables  are  used  to  express  fright  in  Aeschy- 
lus, Seven  against  Thebes,  239-241,  Persae,  256  f.,  Prometheus, 
183  and  904;  Sophocles,  Oedipus  Tyrannus,  1313-1314,  as 
are  short  tones  when  Elsa  foresees  Lohengrin's  departure 
(Act  III),  when  Sieglinde  fears  that  Hunding  will  kill  Sieg- 


A    FEW   REMARKS    ON   RHYTHMS  93 

mund  {Wk.  II),  when  the  Flower-maidens  are  frightened  at 
Parsifal's  arrival,  and  whenever  Mime  gives  expression  to 
cringing  terror  in  Rheingold  and  Siegfried  (especially,  Act  I). 

A  cursory  search  through  Wagner's  scores  for  instances  in 
which  he  uses  typical  Greek  lyric  rhythms  led  to  the  discovery 
of  the  following:  ^ 

1 .   Trochaic  —  Nature  motive  (Ring) . 


This  motive,  as  has  been  shown,  is  used  frequently  in  the 
Ring  to  produce  effects  similar  to  those  produced  by  refer- 
ences to  Zeus  in  the  choral  odes  in  the  Oresteia.  It  is  inter- 
esting, therefore,  to  note  that  the  rhythm  of  this  motive  is 
the  same  as  the  rhj-thm  of  the  first  lyric  reference  to  Zeus 
in  the  Agamemnon,  160  ff.  Fifteen  of  the  twenty-four  lines 
of  this  passage  in  the  Oxford  text  could  be  sung  to  the  Nature 
motive.     It  begins: 

ZeVS,    OCTt?  TTOT     icTTtV,    €1   TOO    ttV- 
TW    <f>L\0V  K€KXrjfXiV<t), 
TOVTO   VLV  irpOCTiVViTrW. 

2.  Iambic  —  Donner  motive  (Ring). 

w  —  I  w  —  I  w  —  I 

3.  DactyUc  —  Bmnnhilde's 

"War  es  so  schmahhch 


Wares  so  niedrig?"  (TFA:.  III). 


4.     Logaoedic  —  the  first  Rhinemaiden's  song  in  the  begin- 

*  In  these  examples  the  value  of  all  long  tones  is  not  exactly  the  same, 
nor  is  that  of  all  short  tones;  neither  has  every  long  tone  twice  the  value 
of  a  short  one.    The  signs  represent  the  note  values  only  approximately. 


94  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

ning   of   Rheingold,    in   which   the   melody   and   rhythm  are 
everything,  as  the  words  have  no  meaning. 

^    'U    I  W    ^    \  I  I I 

5.  Cretic  —  Fate  motive  (Ring). 

—  v^  — 

6.  Choriambic  —  the  Adventure  motive  (sometimes  called 
the  Desire  for  Travel)  in  the  Ring. 

Also,   in   Walkilre,   III,   Wotan's 

"Hortet  ihr  nicht, 
was  ich  verhangt? 


Schreckt  euch  ihr  Loos? 


Weichet  von  ihr." 
Also,  in  Walkiire,  II,  Siegmund's 

"Heiss  in  der  Brust 
brennt  mich  der  Eid." 
Also,  in  Siegfried,  II,  Mime's 

"  Leer  soil  ich  geh'n, 
ganz  ohne  Lohn'?" 

7.  Ionic  —  in  Siegfried,  I,  Siegfried's 

"Aus  dem  Wald  fort, 
in  die  Welt  zieh'n. 
Nimmer  kehr'  ich  zurtick." 

8.  Dochmiac  —  Sympathy  motive  (Wk.  I). 

w  w  w  I —  w  —  I 
It  is  possible  that  a  thorough  study  of  Greek  and  Wagnerian 
rhythms  might  lead  to  the  discovery  of  some  interesting  points. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

POINTS   OF   RESEMBLANCE   BETWEEN   WAGNER   AND 
THE    GREEK   TRAGIC   POETS 

Like  Euripides,  Wagner  shattered  the  traditions  of  the  art- 
form  in  which  he  worked,  and  they  have  not  been  rebuilt  on 
the  old  foundations.  Even  Italian  opera  has  felt  his  influence 
and  become  less  purely  lyric  and  more  dramatic.  Yet  his 
works  are  as  different  from  Puccini's,  for  instance,  as  the 
Alcestis  is  from  a  comedy  of  Menander. 

With  Sophocles  Wagner  has,  perhaps,  nothing  in  common 
except  the  perfect  command  of  his  chief  medium  of  expression. 
He  selects  and  combines  orchestral  effects  with  an  instinct 
for  values  as  unerring  as  that  which  guided  Sophocles  in  his 
choice  of  words;  and  the  resulting  product  is  as  full  of  nuances 
and  subtlety. 

It  was  the  first  of  the  great  tragic  poets,  however,  whose 
dramas  appealed  most  strongly  to  Wagner,  and  his  works 
testify  to  this.  There  is  an  Aeschylean  grandeur  in  the  scores, 
and  their  harmonies  are  as  arresting  as  the  images  of  the  Greek 
poet.  Both  blaze  with  imagination  and  glow  with  passion 
without  losing,  for  a  moment,  their  essential  majesty.  With 
profound  seriousness  the  musician  and  the  poet  have  embodied 
in  their  dramas  truths  so  simple  that  any  one  could  under- 
stand them,  yet  of  such  universal  import  that  all  could  derive 
something  from  their  contemplation.  It  seems  to  have  been 
natural  to  both  Aeschylus  and  Wagner  to  construct  on  a  large 
scale.  Only  the  magnificent  unity  of  purpose  in  such  works 
as  the  Oresteia  and  the  Ring  keeps  them  from  becoming  ob- 
scured by  their  own  bulk.     But  every  scene  built  into  the 

95 


96  Wagner's  dramas  and  greek  tragedy 

structure  is  put  there  not  merely  for  the  sake  of  its  own  beauty 
or  interest,  but  because  it  gives  another  view  of  the  central 
idea.  Each  incident  in  the  plot  brings  together  characters 
who  have  come  by  different  ways.  If  our  perceptions  are 
keen,  we  may  get  a  glimpse  of  these  paths,  and  also  of  countless 
roads  leading  onward.  The  Chorus  of  Aeschylus  and  the 
orchestra  of  Wagner  reveal  them.  By  throwing  many  Ughts 
on  a  single  incident  they  make  its  full  significance  clear.  Events 
cannot  bear  this  exhaustive  treatment  unless  they  involve 
feelings  so  fundamental  as  to  come  —  in  some  lesser  form  — 
within  the  experience  of  almost  any  life.  Of  such  is  the  sub- 
stance of  the  dramas  of  Aeschylus  and  of  Wagner.  Aeschylus 
makes  us  reaUze  that  there  is  no  punishment  more  terrible  than 
that  which  sin  draws  upon  itself;  Wagner  makes  us  see  that 
there  is  no  action  more  noble  than  that  which  begins  in  the 
sorrow  of  sympathy  and  ends  in  the  joy  of  self-forgetfulness 
in  heroic  service. 


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Breschowanoff,  Georg.  Richard  Wagner  und  die  Antike.  Xenien- 
Verlag,  Leipzig,  1910. 

Cha:viberlain,  Houston  Stewart.  Richard  Wagner  (translated 
from  the  German  by  G.  Ainshe  Hight).  J.  M.  Dent  and  Co., 
London,  1897.    J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.,  Philadelphia,  1897. 

Chamberlain,  H.  S.  The  Wagnerian  Drama.  London  and  New 
York,  1915. 

Ellis,  William  Ashton.  Life  of  Richard  Wagner.  (An  authorized 
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1900-1908. 

Ellis,  W.  A.  Richard  Wagner's  Prose  Works  (translated).  Kegan 
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Euripides.  Fabulae  (edited  by  Gilbert  Murray).  Clarendon  Press, 
Oxford,  1901. 

FiNCK,  Henry  T.  Wagner  and  His  Works.  Charles  Scribner's 
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Glasenapp,  C.  F.  Richard  Wagner's  Leben  und  Wirken.  Breitkopf 
and  Hartel,  Leipzig,  1882. 

Jebb,  R.  C.  The  Growth  and  Influence  of  Classical  Greek  Poetry. 
Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  1894.  >' 

Sophocles.  The  Text  of  the  Seven  Plays  (edited  by  R.  C.  Jebb). 
University  Press,  Cambridge,  1897. 

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Wagner,  R.  My  Life  (authorized  translation  from  the  German). 
Constable  and  Co.,  Ltd.,  London,   1911. 

Wheeler,  J.  R.  Tragedy.  (In  Greek  Literature,  Columbia  Uni- 
versity Press,  New  York,.  1912.) 


97 


VITA 

I  was  born  in  New  York,  on  December  16,  1882,  and  pre- 
pared for  college  at  the  Girls'  High  School,  Brooklyn.  In 
1904  I  was  graduated  from  Vassar  College.  During  the 
years  1904-1906  I  attended  courses  at  Columbia  University 
in  Greek,  Latin,  and  Greek  Archaeology,  given  by  Professors 
Perry,  Wheeler,  Earle,  Young,  Peck,  McCrea,  Knapp,  and  Dr. 
Tonks,  and  received  the  degree  of  A.M.  in  1905.  From  1913 
to  1917  I  studied  Greek,  Latin,  and  Music  at  Columbia,  being 
awarded  in  1914  the  Fellowship  of  the  Vassar  Students'  Aid 
Society,  and  in  the  following  year  the  Vassar  Alumnae  Fellow- 
ship. The  courses  I  took  were  given  by  Professors  Perry, 
Wheeler,  Moore,  and  Sturtevant,  and  by  Mr.  Frank  E.  Ward. 

Adequate  thanks  to  those  who  have  taught  me  are  impos- 
sible. What  I  owe  to  their  suggestions,  particularly  to  the 
help  so  generously  given  me  in  my  first  year  of  study  by  Pro- 
fessor Earle,  and  in  the  later  years  by  Professor  Perry,  Pro- 
fessor Wheeler,  and  Professor  Young,  cannot  be  measured  or 
forgotten. 


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